


Against the Tide

by redwolves, trajektoria



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Codependency, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, No Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwolves/pseuds/redwolves, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: Amidst the scenes of Sérène's social season, Constantin is forced to watch his dear cousin make his debut as an eligible bachelor. Under the looming prospect of an arranged marriage, their relationship quickly evolves in ways neither of them could have ever expected.Together, they stumble on long hidden secrets that may change their lives forever.
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay/De Sardet
Comments: 61
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, this fic is basically the result of an rp thread! tristan was written by me and constantin was written (expertly, might i add) by trajektoria. as the tags mention, there's no period-typical homophobia in this one: gay marriages are thing in this universe ;)
> 
> we've heavily edited everything down to a proper fic format, obviously, but it still has _a lot_ of self-indulgent tropes and it's mostly focused on the relationship instead of plot. if that's right up your alley, i hope you enjoy! if not, consider yourself warned lmao

For the first time in years, Sérène’s royal court was buzzing with anticipation.

There were new players to welcome, fresh blood that might liven up the stagnant and insulated circles of the same old nobility that was gradually growing older, and there were few among them that showed as much promise as one Tristan De Sardet. This was a point of pride for the Prince d’Orsay in particular, who anticipated his nephew’s formal introduction with eagerness.

Tristan, on the other hand, was far less eager.

“Is this how you’re going to pass time until the day of the ball?” Kurt questioned him with amusement as Tristan loitered around the guard barracks of the palace, seated at a table across from his master of arms. “Hiding from sight? Not a great first impression for your uncle’s guests.”

“I’m not hiding,” Tristan replied matter-of-factly, gesturing at the other guards present in the room occasionally throwing him the odd glance. “Most of the guests haven’t even arrived yet, besides.”

“When you saw Duke Aubert walking toward you this morning, you all but dove into a supply closet.”

“You saw that?” Tristan cleared his throat, brushing a hand over his black curls and quickly smoothing out the embarrassment and surprise on his face. “Yes, well, the man is on a hunt for marriage candidates for one of his… what, fifty children? I’m not eager to get roped into an arrangement when I only turned eighteen a few months ago, if you don’t mind.”

Kurt snorted, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a generous swig before putting it down and giving Tristan a pointed look. “You’ll have to get used to it, Green Blood, especially once you’re introduced at your uncle’s ball. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but aside from you and Constantin, it’s slim pickings in terms of eligible bachelors.”

“I didn’t know you paid attention to things like that,” Tristan remarked with arched brows.

“I’m just trying to make sure I know which direction the knife is going to come from once one of you breaks some poor girl’s heart. Or boy’s, in your case.”

Tristan frowned deeply at the implication.

With the arrival of the social season, talk of marriage was only natural. Anyone else in Constantin’s position ordinarily would have had a betrothal arranged for them since childhood, but Constantin was never meant to be his father’s heir. That duty had fallen upon his older brother, Antoine.

Tristan almost flinched at the gloomy reminder of the eldest d’Orsay son, dead and buried years ago. Antoine wasn’t here anymore, and so that left Constantin next in line. Being that he was partial to both men and women, that doubled the potential pool of candidates for marriage.

“Constantin is not getting married,” Tristan said eventually, though it sounded more like a wish than a statement. His cousin’s relationship with his parents was one fraught with tension and mistrust; Constantin’s vices that often lead him into trouble had done nothing for his reputation, besides.

It might have been naive of him, but Tristan couldn’t—or rather, didn’t want to—imagine any noble house being interested in entering such a union with someone of such ill repute. That was Tristan’s _hope, _anyway, though he knew very well even the most impudent behavior could easily be forgiven if there was a crown on the line.

“You sure about that?” Kurt startled him from his thoughts, giving him a meaningful glance that had Tristan’s stomach twisting with worry. “You know what his father’s like.” 

The door to the barracks slammed open that very moment, a breathless servant panting in the threshold as if he had just sprinted through the palace, sagging against the door in relief when he spotted Tristan.

“My lord!” the servant gasped. “It’s- His Highness- Lord Constantin!”

Seeing as how the servant saw fit to seek him out specifically, Tristan had to assume this wasn’t a real emergency but rather Constantin being his regular, audacious self. With luck his cousin had limited himself to something relatively innocuous, such as insulting some nobleman’s shoes, although the last time he’d done that the nobleman in question had challenged him to a duel over his slighted honor.

Somehow, Constantin had a penchant for escalating any situation.

“I’ll go rescue him from himself,” Tristan reassured the servant, rising to his feet with an exasperated but fond smile. “Point me in his direction.” 

At least all the excitement Constantin delighted in causing kept the castle from getting caught up in the monotonous drag of daily affairs, though his reputation suffered because of it. He never seemed to care, though, which always worried Tristan a little.

“The- parlor- in the east wing, my lord,” the servant wheezed; the poor man must have run himself ragged. “He- he climbed on top of a table, my lord. Started _dancing_, my lord! Please intervene, Lady d’Orsay will be quite displeased if she hears about this!”

“Take a deep breath, man,” Tristan instructed, placing a steadying hand on the servant’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you take a seat and share a drink with Kurt, here?”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” Kurt protested as Tristan guided the servant to sit across from him. “I didn’t agree to sharing my drink! Do you know how much money I had to save up for this single bottle of scotch?”

“I’ll make up for it later,” Tristan promised, patting the flustered servant on the shoulder before he hurried out the door.

Should Tristan have written up a list of Constantin’s scandalous behavior, dancing on top of furniture wouldn’t even be worth mentioning. Still, it was best not to tempt fate; the servant was right that they should resolve this situation as quickly as possible, especially before Constantin’s mother found out.

Tristan quickly crossed the courtyard, up the stairs and into one of the hallways to the east wing the servant had indicated. Just as Tristan turned the corner to where the room was located, he nearly ran right into a woman. 

He grabbed her by the shoulders before she could collide into him, steadying her just in time as her two companions caught up with her. His gaze flit over her dress, drenched with tea, then up to her face where her tears streaked through the thick layers of white paint on her face, smudging them across her cheeks.

Tristan did not need to guess to know what had happened to the poor woman. “My lady, are you alright?”

“Lord De Sardet!” she sniffled, averting her gaze in embarrassment as she quickly curtseyed. “I’m- I’m so ashamed to be meeting you in this state, but… His Highness—”

“There’s no need for you to feel any shame, my lady,” Tristan reassured her kindly. “On behalf of my cousin I offer you my sincerest apologies, and I will personally see to it that your dress is cleaned and returned to you as new. Please, do stay in the palace for a while. You are my uncle’s esteemed guest, after all.”

The poor girl, flustered as she was, meekly nodded as she wiped away her tears, thankfully calmed down. With that taken care of, Tristan bowed to her and her friends, ignoring their excited whispers as he continued on to the drawing room.

He entered just in time.

There Constantin stood in the center of the room, swaying slightly atop the table laden with food and drink and entirely too expensive porcelain.

“Any requests from the adoring audience?” Constantin taunted. “Perhaps a waltz?”

His pale cheeks were slightly flush, the lack of stability in his stance hinting at inebriation, though when he spun in a pirouette and kicked a delicate teacup off the edge of the table in the process, Tristan had to admire his accuracy as he watched the fragile ceramic shatter against the wall. Constantin ended his pirouette with a flourish, looking rather pleased with himself as he grinned down at the dismayed faces of his father’s guests.

It occurred to Tristan that the pirouette was not typically a move performed in a waltz, but that technicality should probably be overlooked at this point.

Something about the way Constantin stood there atop the table reminded him a little of the portraits of their ancestors hanging on the walls of the palace, poised impressively over some animal they had just slain with their blade in hand, striking a fearsome pose. Constantin was a far more fetching sight than any of the self-absorbed depictions of haughty nobles long dead, even while drunk, but he seemed to be doing his best impression of them.

A conqueror of the refreshments table, his dear cousin was. 

“Constantin!”

The young heir blinked, turning to look at him, and then the gold of his eyes lit up like sunlight.

“Oh, Tristan!” Constantin exclaimed with delight, seeming to forget his own antics immediately as he hopped off the table, slightly wobbly but able to catch himself. “Where were you? I missed you terribly!”

Tristan should’ve expected the embrace that followed and yet his body, despite its diligent physical training over the years, always seemed to have a way of reacting against his wishes where Constantin was concerned.

As Constantin threw his arms around him, Tristan’s spine and shoulders stiffened, heart fluttering in his chest as Constantin pressed his face against Tristan’s neck, his lithe and limber frame fitting perfectly against Tristan’s own.

Tristan’s response was, as it always had been, to crush these feelings under his proverbial heel, grinding them into dust as he inhaled a deep breath and composed himself. Constantin’s need for physical affection was nothing new, yet Tristan started noticing an odd change in how he reacted to it in the past few years.

He, of course, chose to attribute it to his own aloofness. There was no one but Constantin who would touch him so openly and casually; for all of Tristan’s charm, it was that very same carefully cultivated veneer of gallantry that kept everyone else at an arm’s length from him. It had to be his own lack of experience that had him overreacting in such a ridiculous way.

It was almost a relief when Constantin pulled away from him, allowing him to breathe normally again, though of course that did not mean Constantin was done with his mischief.

“It’s been so dull without you!” he complained to Tristan, clingy fingers gripping onto Tristan’s shoulders, hanging off him a little. “Where on earth have you been?”

“I was only gone for a few hours,” Tristan pointed out with amusement, nearly grinning as he received a petulant pout in return.

“You _left _me with these- these—” Constantin gestured wildly to the men still seated at the table. “These humorless old bores!”

One of them bristled in indignation, his companions satisfied to glare at Constantin in distaste. “Humorless bores? Your Highness, I fail to see the humor in destroying precious tableware!”

Before Constantin could sneer something in return, Tristan decided to intervene lest this situation got even worse. Fixing a well-practiced, apologetic smile onto his face, he turned to address them.

“A thousand apologies, my lords,” he spoke in a friendly tone, with a subtle hint of embarrassment. “You must forgive my cousin’s youthful indiscretions. After all, haven’t we all fallen prey to the temptations of the bottle at one point? Certainly around his age?”

“Lord Fontaine would know a thing or two about that,” one of the gentlemen huffed, glancing at the man who’d been bristling before. Fontaine turned to his companion in indignation.

“I take umbrage with such uncouth implications, sir!” he barked, starting to get up out of his seat but then changing his mind halfway through, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as his voice lowered. “There is- indeed, nothing wrong with some indulgence every now and then. Nothing at all!”

“My cousin and I would surely agree, my lord,” Tristan interjected gracefully. “Let us forget this incident as nothing more than… a little _over_indulgence, shall we? It was, after all, not _your _porcelain my cousin saw fit to decorate the walls with.”

A few amused looks, Lord Fontaine deflating in his seat, and the incident was as good as smoothed over. Hopefully enough so that none of them saw fit to inform the prince, or Constantin was in for a very unpleasant encounter with his father.

Tristan exhaled quietly before he turned his attention to Constantin.

“Come on now, cousin,” Tristan coaxed, a guiding hand on his shoulder as he led him toward the door. “Let’s find you a less disruptive form of entertainment, shall we?”

“If we must,” Constantin drawled, shooting an unimpressed glare toward the noblemen but at least seeming content to follow along with Tristan.

“How about we head to the barracks?” Tristan suggested as he directed Constantin out the room and into the corridor, turning toward the stairs. “I was down there with Kurt earlier.”

“You were in the barracks?” Constantin repeated, a furrow wrinkling between his brows. “With Kurt?”

“Yes, as I said.” Tristan shot Constantin a curious look, wondering what was bothering him. Usually his cousin seemed to like their master of arms well enough. “I’m sure he’ll be up for more drinks and a round of cards. Maybe we could—”

“_Cards_?” a cold, high voice sounded from behind them, and Tristan bit back a curse. “I suppose it is better than disgracing yourself in front of our guests even further!”

Constantin froze, a brief expression of panic flickering across his face. Tristan’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly before he released it, and after Constantin took a moment to regain his composure, the two of them turned around to face Lady Albertine d’Orsay.

As much as Tristan did not like to admit it, he could not deny Constantin bore a strong resemblance to his mother in terms of their looks. Her hair was the same light brown shade that bordered on blond, spun into an elegant hairdo styled around the silver tiara atop her head, embedded with glimmering gold crystals. She had delicate features and a fragile frame, the same litheness that her son possessed, though he was quite a bit taller than her.

In fact, Constantin tended to be taller than most people, including Tristan; they had nearly half a head’s difference between them.

The most significant difference between mother and son were their eyes, however. Unlike Constantin’s gentle gold, hers were an intense dark brown, nearly bordering on black. Tristan’s own brown eyes were several shades lighter than hers, though he still hoped his never looked so cold and harsh as hers did.

“Mother, it’s such a _pleasure _to see you,” Constantin spoke in a pompous, unaffected tone, a borderline parody of the manner of speech common among nobles. “I‘m afraid you are mistaken in your accusation, however. Our guests were doing such a marvelous job at disgracing themselves with how utterly uninteresting they were that my help wasn’t even needed.”

Bold words and blasé stance, but his clammy hand sought out Tristan’s and squeezed it, just like when they were children getting scolded. The gesture betrayed his nerves, though his mother’s callous eyes were only paying attention to his face. Tristan squeezed back, a small sign but one that he hoped would soothe Constantin’s fears at least a little.

Tristan had always hated seeing the way Constantin retreated into himself around his parents, his mother especially. The fake airs he put on, the imitation of the sort of spoiled nobleborn son his parents believed him to be; it was like looking into a broken mirror and seeing a twisted reflection of the lively and sensitive boy Tristan had always known.

His aunt was of course unimpressed by Constantin’s retort, a haughty arch of her brows followed by a critical tone. “It is not the duty of our guests to entertain _you_, Constantin, it ought to be quite the opposite. If only you were half as competent as your cousin, you might not be such a disappointment to your father.”

Tristan expected Constantin to flinch, to snap, to react to the cruel words. But he didn’t. All that happened was that the look in his eyes became distant, empty.

In a way, that was even worse.

Lady d’Orsay opened her handheld fan, hiding the disdain curved in her mouth behind the lace edge and averting her gaze as if she could not even bear to look at him anymore.

Tristan subtly clenched his jaw, thumb rubbing reassuringly over the ridges of Constantin’s bony knuckles before he let go of his hand and took a step forward, almost physically putting himself in between his aunt and his cousin.

“Should not someone tend to our guests then, lady aunt?” Tristan suggested, unable to ease the tension in his shoulders but at least managing a polite smile as he lied through his teeth. “They seemed quite displeased when we left the room.”

His aunt breathed a frustrated sigh, snapping her fan shut again. “It is as you say, my dear nephew, I shall go mitigate the damage my foolish son has no doubt caused. Do keep a closer eye on him.”

The moment she retreated into the room and closed the door behind her, Tristan turned to Constantin with worry, hands grasping at his shoulders and eyes flitting over his face for any signs of distress as he looked him over.

“Are you alright?” His brows furrowed in concern and anger both. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re—” _perfect_, he almost said before catching himself. “You’re not a disappointment, not to me.”

With hesitation, Constantin looked up at Tristan, searching his face. His lower lip wobbled for a second, but his eyes didn’t fill with tears, they filled with affection and gratitude. Something prompted him to reach out, put his hand on Tristan’s cheek, thumb gently caressing the mark, skin a bit rough like the bark of a young tree.

Tristan had always been very self-conscious about his mark, never liked other people’s fascination with it, loathed when they all tried to prod at it as if it were some sort of novelty, but Constantin’s touch was different. His fingers gently slid over the roughened skin as if it were something to be cherished.

It made Tristan a little shy as he averted his gaze, heat gathering in his neck even as part of him yearned to close his eyes and lean into Constantin’s caresses.

As it wasn’t in Constantin’s nature to sit still for too long, he broke his own spell over Tristan with a chuckle as he pulled his hand back.

“Well, at least now she finally has a reason to hate me,” Constantin said airily, attempting to make light of the situation. “Come, cousin. The day is still young! So many adventures await us! Let’s not dawdle!”

Tristan couldn’t help but smile softly at the cheer, hoping that if nothing else Constantin would never lose his love for adventure. As children Tristan hadn’t been in a position to shield him from the likes of his parents, but now that he was older he was determined to find a way to protect him, no matter what it took.

“Off we go, then,” Tristan agreed. “But do try not to dance on any more tables; even as slender as you are, the poor furniture can only take so much abuse.”

Constantin laughed. “I can’t promise you that, cousin. Once you feel the call of furniture, it’s forever in your veins. I might not be able to help myself. All chairs, tables and, dare I say, cupboards should quiver in fear before me!”

With pathos, he raised his hand like an actor on stage, before he completely spoiled the moment by ending the soliloquy with steps of a common dance he had learned in a tavern. Tristan chuckled, dodging his cousin’s hand when Constantin tried to drag him into the dance.

The two of them walked the hallways in search of something to do, emerging from the corridors onto the balcony of the courtyard when their peaceful moment was interrupted by the neighing of horses and several voices trading greeting and pleasantries. Tristan wandered over toward the stone railing, peering down to see several servants hauling baggage along.

“More guests?” He gave Constantin a questioning look, wondering if he knew to expect anyone today.

Constantin joined his side, leaning his elbows over the railing as he glanced down.

“They’re like cockroaches, hard to keep count,” he answered with a shrug, his dispassionate gaze passing over the moving figures of the nobles before losing interest entirely.

One among them, however, caught Tristan’s eye. A large and broadly-built man barking orders at the servants, accompanied by a few unfamiliar but well-dressed men and women, all significantly younger than him. Duke Aubert and his children. 

“Oh no,” he heard Constantin mutter, doubtlessly having recognized the duke as well.

Remembering having to evade the persistent man earlier, Tristan nearly cringed at the lengths he had to go to, dreading the idea of the duke extending his stay at the palace. “Dear lord, don’t tell me—”

To his misfortune, the duke looked up in his direction and spotted him, smiling wide and waving at him. “Your Highness, Lord De Sardet! How fortuitous, please do come downstairs! I would like to introduce you to my children.”

Tristan suppressed a groan, but only barely.

Unfortunately, he had dodged the man several times already, and could not do so again without becoming embarrassed by his own childish behavior. He exchanged a look with Constantin, who appeared even more reluctant than him to descend the stairs, but it was best to get the meeting over with quickly.

“Let’s indulge the duke, then,” Tristan sighed, and took the lead down the stairs where the duke awaited them.

He was a burly man, a veteran of the battlefield if one believed the extravagant tales of his youth, but currently the duke’s interests were far less bloody in nature. He’d had several wives and even a few husbands, the slew of former partners plentiful enough to form an infantry unit; added with the number of children the man might even be able to form a small battalion. He easily boasted the largest noble family in all of the Congregation.

“Your Grace,” Tristan greeted him, seeing as how Constantin elected to ignore the pleasantries as he warily eyed a few nobles standing around the courtyard, chattering among each other and instructing the servants on their luggage. “A pleasure to see you.”

It was not, in fact, a pleasure.

“Indeed, I regret that we’ve had so little time to speak,” the duke replied, sharp green eyes casting a glance at Constantin but otherwise choosing to address Tristan. “You are quite the elusive sort, my lord! One might think you were trying to avoid me.”

Tristan smiled so forcefully his cheeks hurt, though outwardly it appeared as a subtle gesture; his lessons in etiquette had to be good for something, he supposed. “Perish the thought, sir, I assure you I very much enjoy our acquaintanceship. But you mentioned you wished to introduce my cousin and I to your children?”

“Ah, yes!” The duke nodded. “Let’s dig into the meat of it then, shall we? Marie!”

One of the girls standing around in the courtyard, speaking to a servant, nearly jumped when her father called for her. The poor thing looked flustered as she hurried over, bowing deeply in front of them with her hands folded neatly over the front of her dress.

“Your Highness,” she spoke. “My lord.”

“Marie is my eldest daughter of twenty-three years, yet unwed,” the duke said proudly. “She has mastered no less than seven languages, and aspires to be an esteemed diplomat! None of my other children are as skilled at politics; she even puts me to shame, at times!”

And so the long procession of the duke’s children began, presented to them as if they were prize horses to be sold on the market.

“This is my second-oldest son, Gaspard, who has great talent in the musical arts and can play the violin, the piano, the flute…”

Claude, Anne, Louis…

“This is Étienne, quite a talented rider and a fair hand in fencing as well, though he prefers his studies most of all, and dare I say has a very keen sense for business…”

Irène, Bertrand, Jeanne…

Tristan glanced at Constantin from the corner of his eyes, and his cousin wasn’t even bothering to hide his long-suffering expression anymore as the duke appeared to go through his entire catalogue of offspring.

“Ah, Mathilde, come here!”

Good god, was there no _end _to this misery?

Just as Tristan resigned himself to becoming acquainted with all three million of Duke Aubert’s children, Constantin suddenly interrupted.

“Ugh!” He groaned loudly, bending in half, clutching his stomach with one hand, the other pressed to his mouth as if he was about to retch. “I think I’m going to be sick, Tristan! Take me to my room, now!”

Tristan looked at him in alarm, brows furrowing in concern, though that did not last long as Constantin continued his theatrics.

“I feel my wits abandoning me,” he croaked as he clung to Tristan’s shoulder. “Oh, the pain! The pain! My poor health has finally left me!”

He slumped onto Tristan, who caught Constantin in his arms just in time, lips briefly twitching as he noticed his cousin winking at him, though Tristan quickly smoothed out his expression again as he turned to the duke.

“As you can see, sir, my dear cousin is in need of my assistance,” Tristan spoke apologetically. “Another time, perhaps?”

“Ah.” The duke appeared mildly disappointed, but then clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, do take care of His Highness! I only regret that you did not get to meet Dominic, but I suppose there will be plenty of time for that in the future.” 

Tristan was glad they had managed to put an end to the unpleasant encounter, but not so glad for Constantin’s overzealous use of him as a crutch. Although, there was a way to make this easier on both of them.

He bent down, keeping one arm around Constantin’s back while the other scooped up his legs from underneath his knees, lifting him up with ease. It was impulsive and bordering on impropriety, not something Tristan would ever dare to do with anyone else, but Constantin had a way of drawing out his playful side.

“Your Grace.” Tristan spoke his parting words to the duke, who watched them with arched brows as Tristan nonchalantly carried his cousin across the courtyard and up the stairs again with a perfectly straight face.

Constantin was heavy, but not outrageously so. If anything, Tristan would’ve expected him to be heavier, which worried him a little. Tristan always knew Constantin had a bad habit of skipping over meals sometimes, and the duress he was under because of his parents had never been beneficial to his health, but feeling firsthand how it affected him was a different matter.

Putting the issue aside as they reached the second floor, Tristan decided not to dampen the mood by bringing up the topic, and instead tried to enjoy his mischief.

“Happy now?” Tristan teased as he began to walk toward Constantin’s room, glancing at his cousin and finding his face reddened, and not by drink this time.

His eyes were slightly wide as he stared at Tristan, seeming shocked into muteness, which was quite rare for Constantin indeed. Tristan grinned a little in amusement at the reaction, carrying him off like…

Like a groom carrying off his lover on their wedding night.

Tristan felt the heat start radiating from his skin from underneath his clothes, neck and ears beginning to flush, mirroring Constantin’s complexion.

Oh, this brilliant idea was backfiring on him, alright.

Constantin finally snapped out of his surprise, giggling at the absurdity of it as he pressed his face against the crook of Tristan’s neck. It was a happy sound that made Tristan grin like a fool as warmth blossomed in his chest.

If only his cousin could always be so happy, and if it weren’t for this cold and cruel world he might have been. But those were not the cards that had been dealt to him, and now all Tristan could do was treasure these little moments of tenderness they found, shared between them.

“Yes,” Constantin declared, arms wrapping snugly around Tristan’s neck as he was carried toward his room. “Very. My lazy side is most pleased. We make quite the team. A damsel in distress and his brave, strong and handsome guardian.”

Tristan blinked, caught on the word _handsome_, the slightly strange way it slipped out of Constantin’s mouth even as he felt bashful at the compliment.

It wasn’t so odd, was it? He’d heard it from other people before, it was a perfectly innocent remark and yet it did strange things to his head and his heart, making his judgment cloud over.

“In distress, yes, but I would hardly call you a damsel, Constantin,” Tristan replied with amusement, voice softening as he spoke. “You’re my prince.”

_My_ prince.

The way the words sounded as soon as they left his mouth—too intimate, too possessive, Tristan biting his lower lip before he quickly added, “That is to say, _a_ prince. To be. After your father.”

Good god, he was nearly stammering. For someone boasting oratory skills it was embarrassing; only Constantin could ever make him feel so flustered.

“Ugh, don’t even remind me,” Constantin replied after a beat, chattering on as he usually did though he seemed a bit tense as he quickly brushed the title off. “All that ruling… such a hassle. Never wanted it. Maybe I need to run away and become a stable boy in Thélème or something.”

Tristan wasn’t quite sure what he could say to that; Constantin had made it no great secret that he never wanted to become a prince, but it wasn’t something he could reject without being outright banished by his parents.

Thankfully, they reached the door to Constantin’s room at that very moment, and Tristan breathed a sigh of relief as he took the excuse to lower Constantin to his feet. “Here we are.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Constantin said with a smile that eyed a little self-conscious, almost abashed. “I probably should stay in my room for some time, add some weigh to the lie. Do you want to accompany me? We could play cards or, I don’t know, gossip about all these idiots flocking to the ball.”

It would be wiser to leave, Tristan knew, and give himself the time and space to get his head sorted. He had already been avoiding most of the guests who arrived thus far, and it wouldn’t do him any good to put things off for too long, but the idea of spending time alone with Constantin was so very tempting that for once Tristan couldn’t be bothered to care about being wise.

His aunt and uncle would have to forgive him because he couldn’t refuse Constantin’s offer, not when he smiled like that, with his bright and eager eyes always so pretty.

“Alright,” Tristan relented, against his better judgment. “I’ll stay for a little while.”

He hoped it was the right decision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im starting to figure out that because of how self-indulgent this rp is that the chapters are subsequently going to be _really_ long as well, because boy do we love dragging scenes out lol
> 
> this one is told entirely from constantin's pov which was written by the wonderful trajektoria and edited by me, enjoy!

“Alright, I’ll stay for a little while.”

Constantin could have sighed with relief, a genuine and grateful smile blooming on his face.

He had been languishing in his solitude for most of the day, predictably ending up at the bottom of a bottle for a while until he found himself atop a table, kicking porcelain cups against the wall until Tristan had shown up to rescue him from his own worst impulses.

Constantin always felt aimless when his cousin was not by his side. Tristan was ever so reliable, so devoted. Any time spent away from him felt like being cast adrift on an endless sea, and yet when they were together Constantin could not help but feel like a burden to him, a weight dragging him down. It seemed he was destined to be miserable in some way no matter what, but at least he could live with the selfishness of keeping Tristan close.

Being apart from him was far worse.

Happily, Constantin opened the door and invited Tristan into his bedroom, then followed him inside. Constantin’s quarters, despite the servants’ best efforts, were always chaotic, much like its owner: scattered books, discarded clothes, and a knife embedded in the canvas of a painted landscape hanging on the wall from when he got bored and practiced aiming at the tiny mill.

The first thing Constantin did was to flop dramatically on his large bed, stretching his long body on the silks, his arms crossed under his head. He had half a mind to ask Tristan to join him and rest a little, but he noticed his cousin start to wander the bedroom instead.

Constantin propped himself up on his elbows and watched as Tristan walked the room with a thoughtful gaze, fingers absently trailing over the edge of Constantin’s desk. It wasn’t long until he started pacing; this always happened whenever he had something on his mind, as if pacing around helped him think. Constantin left him to it, assuming Tristan would talk to him about it when he was ready, though he never could’ve expected what came next.

“Say, with the social season and all this talk of marriage, I was wondering…” Tristan walked over toward the windows next, staring through the glass with a slight furrow in his brows, arms crossed over his chest. “Have you ever considered it?”

“Considered marriage, you mean?” Constantin didn’t think about his answer long. “Not particularly. Why do you ask?”

Maybe a year ago he’d had a particularly ugly argument with his father, where he threatened to deprive the Congregation of its precious heir if his parents even so much as breathed out a suggestion of selling him like cattle to anyone.

Since then, the topic hadn’t been brought up again.

“I was talking to Kurt about it earlier,” Tristan spoke slowly, almost reluctantly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your father approached me to propose a few arrangements before the end of the season. Though I was wondering if you—”

Arrangements? For marriage?

“No!” Constantin sprang out of bed, dread digging its claws through the gaps between his ribs as he stepped toward the windows and took Tristan’s hands into his. “You cannot get married! I beseech you!”

Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared at Constantin, flustered into speechlessness while he glanced down at Constantin’s hands all but squeezing the life out of his. Constantin realized it a moment later, releasing him immediately, but his heart continued to pound in his chest.

He couldn’t stand the thought of Tristan being away, being with someone who didn’t deserve him; the mere hypothetical of it had been so frightening that he’d responded without thinking.

Constantin took a deep breath and stepped back, trying to get a hold of himself.

Perhaps he had overreacted. He had, hadn’t he? Nothing was set in stone. Considering possible arrangements didn’t mean anything. Tristan could refuse. Of course he could, he wasn’t a slave.

All right. Yes. Deep breaths. Awkward smile to diffuse the tension.

“Sorry,” Constantin said, running his hand nervously through his hair and trying to play it off for laughs. But his anxiety was coming off him in waves, no matter how much he tried to conceal it. “My impulsiveness will be my undoing. Still, you’re too young to get married, you only turned eighteen two months ago! What are you, a child bride?”

He avoided Tristan’s eyes but could feel him staring, and Constantin almost expected to be laughed at.

Instead, Tristan reached out and curled his hand around the back of Constantin’s neck in a comforting grip, thumb rubbing over his skin and the soft hairs at the edges.

“Constantin, it’s alright,” he reassured in a gentle tone, as if trying to placate a frightened deer with his soft voice. “I would not leave you so suddenly.”

Tristan was a wielder of magic, and sometimes Constantin wondered what the true extent of it was. His gentle voice and delicate touch always managed to soothe him, almost like an enchantment of sorts. Constantin found himself relaxing, his panic subsiding as soft fingertips caressed the back of his neck.

His cousin was right. Of course he wouldn’t leave Constantin like that. Out of all the people in the world, Constantin knew that Tristan was the only one who would never abandon him.

With Constantin calmed down Tristan pulled his hand back, moving over to Constantin’s bed and sitting down at the edge, grinning a little.

“Besides, the pool of potential marriage candidates is a scarce one indeed,” Tristan said with a playful smile, making a chivalrous attempt at smoothing over Constantin’s overreaction and lightening the mood. “If I’m not mistaken, Baroness Montfort’s uncle is looking for yet another young thing to warm his bed. Heavens, can you imagine, me standing next to him wearing one of his horrid hats? What did he wear last time at your mother’s gathering? A bird’s nest?”

“Baroness Montfort’s uncle?” Constantin scoffed, shaking his head as he sat down beside Tristan. “God, he’s older than my father! And I don’t know where he finds his outrageous outfits. The circus, probably.”

Tristan laughed, causing Constantin to smile as all his tension dissipated.

“If Lord Montfort doesn’t tickle your fancy, there is still the progeny of Duke Aubert,” Constantin teased, babbling on as he poked fun at the idea that had scared him so much mere moments ago. “How many are there? Thirty? Imagine family gatherings, it must be dreadful. Speaking of which, I don’t trust the duke one bit. If he could, he’d try to marry you himself. Ugh! Perish the thought! I wouldn’t wish that upon my worst enemy… no, wait. I would. Let my father marry him himself! Now that would be a development!”

His Tristan, married off to someone? Preposterous! Not one of these conniving nobles was worthy to shine his shoes, let alone be his companion in life.

Constantin glanced over to Tristan, expecting some sort of response, but his cousin was silent.

When Constantin got excited about something, or was in one of his more manic moods, he tended to ramble, barely stopping for breath. He could soliloquize for minutes on end, not bothered that the other party didn’t get a chance to interject. People rarely listened to him anyway, just nodding and flashing polite smiles.

Tristan was different, of course, in that regard as well. No matter how silly or provocative Constantin’s words were, his cousin always listened and responded. Every time Constantin made his cousin smile genuinely or laugh, he somehow felt validated.

That was why Constantin found it surprising that when his monologue ended, he was met with silence. Not only silence; Tristan was staring at him. More specifically, at his lips, with a strange and absent expression. The gaze in his deep brown eyes was so intense that Constantin felt his pale cheeks burning with color.

“Tristan?” he prompted uncertainly, heart thudding loudly in his chest.

“Hmm?” Tristan blinked, glancing up at Constantin’s eyes before realization dawned on his face and his golden beige skin became darkened with a flush, mirroring Constantin’s reddened complexion. “Oh!” He quickly averted his gaze “Forgive me, I… my mind wandered off for a moment.”

“It’s alright,” Constantin replied quickly, his eyes sliding across everything in the room that wasn’t Tristan. “It wasn’t important, anyway.”

Tristan hummed, pausing for an awkward moment before muttering an excuse. “I must be getting tired.” 

It was rather unlike his silver-tongued cousin to flounder in his speech like this, though Constantin wasn’t much better off; he would gladly take the opportunity to change the subject, however.

“Then you should rest a while,” Constantin said, making a sweeping and inviting gesture indicating his bed. “A nap. Just like when we were children.” In those far more peaceful times when they spent nearly every waking moment together and then slept in the same room, Tristan’s mother kissing their foreheads goodnight. 

“I suppose an hour of rest couldn’t hurt,” Tristan decided with a nostalgic smile at the reminder of their childhood.

Constantin smiled back, seeing that his proposal was met with approval. Tristan was always working so hard, completely engrossed in the life of the court, entertaining all the useless nobles that flocked to the throne like flies to horse’s dung. He needed a break sometimes, a safe haven where etiquette didn’t matter and a person could be themselves freely.

For his dearest cousin, Constantin would gladly be that haven.

Although, as he watched Tristan begin to take off his outerwear so he could settle comfortably on the bed, the thoughts that then began to course through Constantin’s mind were hardly as noble as the sentiments before it.

The coat, the cravat, the vest, the boots. The lines of Tristan’s toned body were visible under the thin shirt, his muscles so unusually prominent for a diplomat. While not as large as Kurt, Tristan was still strong, stronger than people gave him credit for. Strong enough to carry his cousin through the palace without breaking a sweat.

Handsome too, that was the objective truth. Constantin noticed sometimes the interested glances people would send Tristan’s way. It was a good thing that Tristan never paid them any mind. It would break Constantin’s heart if he did. He deserved so much better than any of those vultures.

Constantin observed as Tristan climbed onto the bed and comfortably reclined onto the pillows, stretching like a contented cat on top of the covers as if he had always belonged here.

“It seems I’m even more tired than I thought,” Tristan murmured, then looked over at Constantin with a question in his gaze. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

The unexpected offer made him pause, but Constantin shook off his surprise quickly. It was only fair that he should join, wasn’t it? It was his bed, after all.

Wordlessly, Constantin stood up. He took off his expensive coat, his movements starting out slow and deliberate. Tristan’s eyes were on him, he could feel them on the nape of his neck, and in some strange, perverse way he wanted Tristan to look. He almost felt the ghost of Tristan's touch across his back.

What was wrong with him?

Quickly, he kicked off his muddy boots and returned to bed, lying on his side, face to face with Tristan. His cousin looked adorable, his dark eyes glazed already, most likely from sleepiness. They were so close that with the slightest shuffle their noses would touch. Constantin didn’t remember the last time they lied down like this together. Maybe truly when they were but children.

“Should I sing you a lullaby?” Constantin suggested. The offer was punctuated by a wink, but it wasn’t entirely a joke. If there was anything Constantin could do, it was sing. Even his parents couldn’t deny him that. He was always more on the artistic side of life, possessing talents considered worthless for a ruler.

What an apt summary of his entire existence; good at things that didn’t matter, useless at everything else.

Tristan smiled at him with amusement and fondness both. “If you’d like.”

“Any requests?”

“How about…” Tristan paused for a moment, thoughtful. “The one my mother always used to sing, something with lavender… Lavender’s Blue?”

Constantin knew exactly which song Tristan meant; it was a lullaby his aunt had sung to him as well, whenever he had insisted on sleeping in the same bed as Tristan when they’d been children. His own mother had never sung him anything, and so he cherished those memories of his kind aunt all the more.

He took a deep breath and with a wistful smile he let the song flow, the melody gentle and soothing.

_“Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, _

_ Lavender's green, _

_ When I am king, dilly, dilly, _

_ You shall be queen.”_

Constantin wasn’t sure what his heart was telling him, but it began to drum faster in his chest as he sang. This felt very different from when aunt Livie would sing them to sleep as children. There was a tender longing in his chest as he watched Tristan’s eyes flutter shut, his expression that was normally so carefully composed softened into something serene and peaceful that made Constantin want to reach out and touch his cheek.

_“Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, _

_ Lavender's blue, _

_ If you love me, dilly, dilly, _

_ I will love you.” _

Constantin’s voice cracked, causing Tristan to open his eyes again to look at him as Constantin flashed him an apologetic smile. It was getting harder to carry the tune, a peculiar tightness in his chest making it more and more difficult to keep singing.

_“I love to dance, dilly, dilly, _

_ I love to sing, _

_ When I am queen, dilly, dilly, _

_ You'll be my king.” _

Tristan smiled at the end of it, the best reward Constantin could’ve hoped for. His cousin closed his eyes and shifted his head lower to nuzzle gently against Constantin’s collarbone, an arm draping around Constantin’s waist and pulling him a little closer.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly, finally drifting off into sleep with a name still formed on his lips in a tender sigh. “Constantin…”

Tristan had fallen asleep but something awakened in Constantin, something unraveled completely inside his chest. A dull ache without a name, the cruel longing that clawed at his heart.

“Oh, Tristan,” he said because there wasn’t anything else that he could say. There were no words for what he felt. But maybe he could show it. He locked his cousin in a warm embrace, pressing his face into Tristan’s hair and placing a little tender kiss on top of his head of curls. He wasn’t sure why he had done it. It just felt right, the perfect way to show how much he loved his dear cousin.

“I will always be at your side, for as long as you want me,” he promised in a whisper, words flowing, bleeding straight from his heart. “Nothing will come between us.”

Constantin didn’t plan on falling asleep, but before he realized it his eyes were sliding shut as his breaths evened out, mind drifting off into slumber.

His dreams were indistinct and difficult to remember. The images slipped away from his mind one by one, but they left behind echoes of voices, tastes and touches. It was a pleasant dream, not one of many of his usual nightmares, of that he was certain.

What woke him up was the sensation of being shaken, prompting him to blearily open his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that his bedroom was still bright with natural light. The sun hadn’t set yet, which meant it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, not that Constantin had been expecting to be sleeping all day… although he wouldn’t have minded if he had.

The second realization was more surprising. Tristan was right at his side, the cause of his waking as he was shaking Constantin’s shoulder gently.

“Wake up, cousin,” Tristan spoke in a soft tone. “The vultures are waiting.”

Constantin blinked up at him, the memory slowly returning to him. He remembered everything—the song, the cuddle, the words. They really did sleep together just as they had when they were still children, even if Constantin’s thoughts had lost that childlike innocence already. Tristan seemed none the wiser, so he felt no need to bare his heart.

There was knocking on his door. “Your Highness, the prince is waiting!”

Ah. _Those _were the vultures Tristan meant. Time for dinner, then.

Constantin looked up at Tristan, his curls that were usually so carefully styled now sticking out in all directions, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the endearing sight. Without thinking, he lifted his hand and let it ruffle Tristan’s hair even more, messing it up hopelessly. Tristan grinned, making no move to pull out of Constantin’s reach as he usually might have, instead peering down at Constantin with fondness and amusement.

It was a simple act of intimacy and domesticity that somehow still felt like a forbidden fruit, making the blood in Constantin’s veins run hotter.

“Let’s stay here,” he coaxed, though he knew it was futile as he playfully tugged on a thick, curly lock of Tristan’s hair. “There’s no way you will make yourself look presentable in time. It’s a lost cause, I’m afraid.”

“I only have to comb it through,” Tristan replied as he ran his fingers through his tresses, though it hardly helped smooth out the mess. “Not all of us have been blessed with perfectly silky hair like you, Your Highness.”

“I much prefer your curls, to be honest,” Constantin replied, smiling gently.

Tristan flushed a little, glancing away; he was so utterly endearing whenever he got flustered.

A thought appeared in Constantin’s mind—how would it feel to wake up to the sight of Tristan every morning?—but he squashed it before it could fully form and expand into something more dangerous. 

He turned to his side and curled up, hugging a pillow. His leg shifted, touching Tristan’s. It was unintentional on his part, and as there was usually such comfortable physical affection between them Constantin did not think about the action.

His knee brushed up against Tristan’s, moving up further as it rubbed against the inner side of Tristan’s thigh, until Tristan yanked his leg back, jerking in surprise.

Constantin paused at the visceral reaction, staring with confusion at the look of panic crossing Tristan’s face before his cousin suddenly sat up, turning his back as he settled on the edge of the bed. Constantin heard the deep breath Tristan took, saw it in the subtle movement of his shoulders.

“Tristan?”

“It’s nothing,” Tristan spoke with his back still turned to Constantin as he rose to his feet, moving toward the chair where he’d placed his outerwear. “We should attend the dinner before one of your parents decide to hound us.”

Constantin watched as Tristan dressed himself, looking around for his cravat and finding the cloth sitting on the table where he’d left it—not once did he look Constantin’s way.

After so many years together, growing up glued at the hip, Constantin knew Tristan better than anyone, better perhaps than Tristan’s own mother. Even if he hadn’t, though, it was still painfully obvious something had spooked his cousin.

That something being Constantin, of course.

He’d gotten the daft idea in his head that they ought to share a bed together, caught up in the nostalgia of their youth and not taking into account that they weren’t children anymore; it had been a thoughtless thing to do. When Constantin’s touch, however unintentionally, had veered too close to being improper it was only natural that Tristan had reacted as he did.

They weren’t lovers, after all.

Constantin couldn’t help but feel a pang of rejection, which was absurd because there ought to be nothing_ to_ reject, and yet it hurt. It was there, and it hurt.

He stood up from the bed, training his face to a perfectly blank expression. A little bit of effort and he was even able to plaster there a smile as if nothing was wrong, as if he wasn’t bleeding inside from an open wound.

“My parents will find a pretext to hound us anyway; why bother?” he said, aiming for a casual tone.

He put his dirty boots on, followed by his rumpled coat, buttoning it up carelessly. His hair resembled a pile of hay, but so what? He glanced in the direction of the mirror, briefly catching Tristan’s eyes, noticing the concern furrowed in his cousin’s brow.

Constantin had to avert his gaze or his nonchalant façade would crumble. “Let’s go, then.”

Tristan opened his mouth as if to say something, but then changed his mind and nodded, tearing his eyes away from Constantin as he led the way out of the bedroom.

There was silence between them as they headed for the parlor, where everyone would wait until dinner was formally served.

Constantin was lost to his own thoughts as they walked side by side; he couldn’t quite explain it but within himself he felt something strange, something indescribable and elusive. When thinking about it, he always imagined the ocean. Dark, deep, cold, endless. He didn’t know if he had always carried it with him or if it appeared after Antoine’s death, but it was there now, always.

On his good days, he could almost forget about it and just laugh as if everything was fine. On his bad days, he felt like drowning in it. The only thing, the only one, keeping him afloat was Tristan. Like a lifeline and like a lighthouse, a promise of warmth and safety.

Recently, Constantin had more bad days than good. And today was shaping not to be much different. That blade of rejection had cut that lifeline. The light from the lighthouse had dimmed too. Maybe it was irrational, but he couldn’t control what he felt, like he couldn’t control the ebbs and flows of that dark, deep ocean beckoning him into the abyss.

No one knew about all that, of course. They wouldn’t understand, would call it a weakness or tell him to stop with this nonsensical fantasy. Not even Tristan knew, although he probably had some suspicions. Still, Constantin maintained the masquerade, wearing the mask of his usual blasé expression. It was better to pretend.

As they walked through several hallways and the double doors to the parlor eventually came into view, Tristan cleared his throat to speak.

“Constantin, do you think—”

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted as he reached for one of the doors which suddenly opened. The edge of the wood would’ve hit him square in the nose had his quick reflexes not made him step back in time.

“Oh!” A young man stood in the doorway, forest green eyes wide in surprise. “My apologies, I’ll get out of your way.”

He was around the same height as Constantin and spoke in a deep, smooth voice, but his youthful face betrayed his age, a boyishness to his embarrassed smile as he opened the door wider and stepped to the side to let them through. A single wavy lock of his dark brown hair fell down his forehead, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck.

Constantin could not remember ever seeing him before as he sized him up. The man seemed to be around their age—quite handsome, if he was being honest. Constantin was sure that he would’ve remembered him if they’d ever met, so they must not have. One of the debutantes then?

A quick glance at Tristan’s bemused expression told him that he didn’t know him either, which was even more baffling considering Tristan was well-acquainted with almost everyone at the prince’s court.

“Dominic!”

Like a cockroach, there Duke Aubert was again, hurrying over toward them and nearly spilling a woman’s drink as he elbowed his way through the small crowd gathered in the parlor. The duke seemed immune to all the glares cast his way, however, his attention singularly fixated on the three of them standing by the doorway. 

“Ah, Your Highness, Lord De Sardet!” Duke Aubert appeared thrilled at seeing them, grinning wide as he slapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “What marvelous timing! Allow me to introduce you to my eldest son, Dominic Aubert.”

Constantin felt like he could vomit; the man had no shame. It was obvious he was hoping to sell his son the highest social bidder to win favors and strengthen his position. He almost felt sorry for the son. Almost.

Again, he traded glances with Tristan. Neither of them should suffer through this, but if he knew his cousin then Tristan would do his best to maintain a polite appearance, and Constantin had no patience to spare for it.

“Enchanted,” Constantin said, giving them both a civil but hardly cordial nod. “We’d love to chat, but I’m afraid my father is looking for us, and we can’t keep him waiting. Excuse us, my lords.”

Without waiting for their reply, he grabbed Tristan’s elbow and dragged him inside the room. As soon as they entered, he let him go, the memory of their legs touching and how it had ended still fresh in his memory.

Instead, he looked around, locating his father and mother. His eyes slid across the attendees that were starting to take note of their entrance, but as always Constantin’s gaze ended up travelling to the large portrait over the fireplace.

Antoine, maybe a year before his death, staring down at everyone with the serene expression of a perfect ruler.

Oh, how Constantin hated this parlor. He never felt worthy to enter it.

“Constantin?” Tristan spoke up from beside him. “What’s wrong?”

The question pulled him out of his reverie. He looked up, his eyes meeting Tristan’s warm brown ones so full of worry. Constantin’s heart fluttered foolishly in his chest before he squashed that feeling. Letting it bloom would bring neither of them any good. He had his dearest cousin’s friendship, he ought to be satisfied by that.

Constantin didn’t know how to answer him. What could he even say? Something was wrong. Many things. What could he tell Tristan? About the dark, cold ocean humming its siren’s song for him to drown? About the longing that dared not to speak its name, which the cruelest scorn had maimed? About the painted eyes of his dead brother that seemed to follow him no matter where he went, scalding his skin like lashes?

He didn’t want to speak. He wanted to show. Put his arms around Tristan, hide his face in the crook of Tristan’s neck, feel his cousin’s strong hands holding him, grounding him. Hear Tristan’s calm breath in his ear, both hearts beating in the same rhythm. Reach again for his lifeline, rekindle the fires of the lighthouse.

Before Constantin could even think to articulate these thoughts to Tristan, let alone whether it would be wise to speak of it at all, Tristan’s gaze was pulled away from him toward the crowd surrounding them. His expression shuttered into his usual mask of graceful composure as he switched his position, standing by Constantin’s side.

A moment later Constantin understood why.

Mother and father were coming towards them. Both smiling, both fake, both regal. Beside his mother’s slight frame was his father’s tall posture, his once brown hair fully greyed over the years. Pleased sparks lit up his father’s sharp, golden eyes when he looked at Tristan, but they disappeared as soon as his gaze moved to Constantin, turning into familiar disapproval before flicking back to his nephew again.

“Ah, Tristan,” his father addressed him cordially. “It is good of you to attend. I realize it is not your proper debut yet, but I’m sure that even now you can put that silver tongue of yours to use and mingle. A lot of people would like to meet such a promising young man.”

“Am I promising as well, father?” Constantin asked, as always in a confrontational tone. Not enough to be a slight, but close enough to toe that line, the snide questions slipping from his lips before he could stop himself. “Should I mingle?”

“Since you couldn’t even comb your hair before coming here,” the prince replied coldly, voice barely above a hiss, “I suggest you keep your blathering to a minimum.”

The prince took his leave with that last retort, his gaze much warmer when aimed at Tristan.

His father was as pleasant as ever, which was to say, not at all. All the better that he decided not to drag them into a longwinded conversation then, though that left Constantin’s mother to deal with.

“I couldn’t help but notice your little meeting with Duke Aubert’s son,” she said to Tristan, eyes flashing in a way Constantin didn’t like one bit. “Do be sure to get on Dominic’s good side, my dear. He is the duke’s heir, after all, and dare I say a very fine young man. It would benefit you both to become friends.”

She gave Constantin a cursory glance, scoffed and folded out her fan in front of her mouth as she moved along, following her husband. At this point Constantin knew her far too well to take her words at face value, but he couldn’t guess what she was playing at this time.

Tristan looked equally displeased, if the frown on his face was any indication. “What do you think she’s scheming now?”

“Heaven only knows,” Constantin replied with a weary sigh, though he covered it quickly with a smile when Tristan’s gaze lingered on his face. “Shall we mingle, then? Or rather, you mingle while I stand here and look pretty.”

“Making me do the heavy lifting, are you?” Tristan teased, though it was half-hearted at most as his eyes regarded Constantin’s expression attentively, always searching for a crack in his mask.

Constantin made to reply, but now that they had entered the room and greeted his parents, the vultures that had been circling them came swooping in at their first opportunity.

“Your Highness!”

A noblewoman and her two companions approached them eagerly; Constantin hardly recognized any of them, or anyone else in the room aside from a few prominent figures. He preferred not to waste time memorizing the name of every leech that came to suck up to his father.

“Lord De Sardet as well!” the noblewoman greeted with a small little smile. “What a pleasure to see you both at the party.”

Constantin suppressed his urge to scoff and instead cast his eyes away, feeling bored to tears already. Unlike him, though, Tristan returned the woman’s smile with a charming one of his own.

“Lady Harcourt,” he greeted the woman, then turned to her companions. “Lady Duval, Lord Boudet. The pleasure is all ours.”

“You are just in time for dinner,” the man among the three, Lord Boudet, remarked with a raised brow. “I hope they will serve it soon; I do not know how much longer I can sustain myself on brandy.”

Tristan expertly twisted his mouth in an amused grin, too calculated and contained to be real. When he smiled or grinned with sincerity, his lips would always spread wide, the edge of his teeth visible between a slight parting. Constantin’s eyes lingered admiringly on Tristan’s mouth for a moment as Tristan continued to talk, watching the way it formed his words.

“Is that a formal complaint, Lord Boudet?” Tristan replied while Constantin took note of the slightest stubble on his chin, right below the plump curve of his bottom lip. Taking a nap in Constantin’s room hadn’t given him the chance to shave. “I could always instruct the servants to restrict your access to our liquor cabinets.”

“No, no,” Lord Boudet laughed, chuckling along with his companions, the noise irritating as Constantin’s focus broke and he let out a deep sigh, looking around for the nearest tray of drinks. He’d need it if he was going to make it through this dinner. “No complaints here, my lord!”

“And how are you doing this evening, Lady Duval?” Tristan asked the woman who hadn’t spoken yet. “I trust it your wife is still recovering from her cold? It is a shame she could not attend.”

“I thank you for your consideration, my lord,” Lady Duval replied appreciatively, more soft-spoken than the others, which meant at least her voice wouldn’t grate on Constantin’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “She has been contained to her chambers for another day of bedrest, but she is sure to attend the ball at the end of the week.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“What of your mother, my lord?” Lady Harcourt asked, her tone one of polite curiosity, though the sharp gleam in her eyes said otherwise. “Can we expect Princess Livie to make an appearance before the season is over?”

It spoke to Tristan’s grace and skill as an actor that his expression did not so much as twitch at the mention of his mother. Princess Livie had always been prone to falling ill, plagued with a sickly constitution ever since she was a child. She had been staying at her manor on the countryside, unable to make the trip to the city as it would be too taxing on her delicate health. It had been hard on Tristan to leave her; those first few days at the palace he had been unusually quiet, too busy worrying about his mother to do much else. It took Constantin dragging him off to the tavern to get wasted, until he finally admitted that he hated being at the palace before he eventually loosened up.

“That is my hope,” Tristan answered diplomatically, knowing that giving anything away would be feeding the gossiping mill ever-present during social functions like these. “I appreciate your concern, my lady, as I’m sure my mother would as well.”

“Does she expect you find a suitable match?” Lord Boudet inquired slyly, and Constantin tensed at the turn in the conversation. “The prince certainly seems intent on showing you off even before your formal debut.” 

Lady Harcourt snickered. “I should warn you, my lord; Duke Aubert is among those with a keen interest. You met his eldest son earlier, did you not?”

“Yes, Dominic,” Tristan confirmed amicably, though there was caution in his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about him.”

Ideally Constantin should like it to stay that way, though the harpies surrounding them appeared to have different ideas on the matter.

“But you must have heard about the plans for a settlement on Teer Fradee?” Lady Harcourt said eagerly, lowering her tone of voice as she spoke and leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “Duke Aubert has been lobbying the prince to consider Dominic for the position of governor. Everyone knows the position will most likely go to Lady Morange, but—”

Constantin’s patience finally wore out.

“Tristan,” he interrupted sharply. “I am in need of some fresh air. Will you join me on the balcony?”

“Of course.” Tristan did not even miss a step, likely having anticipated it as he formally bowed to the lord and two ladies that had been occupying far too much of his time already. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Constantin did not even bother with pleasantries, instead turning around and marching off before they got sucked into another tedious conversation, Tristan following him. He parted the thick curtains on the balcony, relieved to see there was no one else there as he opened the windowed door and headed out.

The moment they stepped outside, Constantin gasped. It was cold, colder than he expected. Not surprising for this time of day, but he still hoped that the air bore some remnants of summer. At least it was peaceful here. The sounds of empty conversations were muffled and distorted as if coming from afar. Constantin finally felt like he could breathe again. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled with a smile.

They had a quiet view of the gardens as well as the city beyond while a crescent moon shone through the clouds. Constantin could almost pretend they were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere far away, just the two of them, where they had no obligations and no roles to perform.

“Constantin?” Tristan asked, pulling Constantin’s gaze away from the night sky and back toward him, lingering for a moment on the way the moonlight touched his skin, glowing from his cheek and reflected as a quiet glimmer in his dark eyes. “Is something wrong?”

Constantin wanted to reach out and caress the edge of that moonlight on Tristan’s face, but then he remembered the way Tristan had jerked away from him in bed before. As if his touch were repulsive.

“You know how much I hate these parties,” Constantin responded casually, turning back to stare out over the view of the city in the distance, its warm lights so much livelier and more inviting than the cold halls of the castle. “Being out here is much better.”

Another sharp gust of wind blew across the balcony, making them both shiver as Tristan hugged himself; he had always handled the cold rather poorly. “I agree, though I do wish it were slightly warmer.”

“Now, my dear cousin, I can’t change the weather, but I can make staying here a bit more bearable,” Constantin said, acting at once as he made to take off his coat. “I even kept my clothes warm for you!”

Tristan stopped him before he could slide it off his shoulders, however, frowning at him. “Don’t be silly. I’d rather stay cold than have you freezing out here on my account.”

“It’s no bother,” Constantin insisted. “Truly.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Tristan’s eyes drifted to the balcony doors and windows. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, as if hesitant—Constantin’s eyes fixated on the teeth pressing into the soft skin, a flood of warmth beneath his skin and around his neck contrasting sharply against the cold as he quickly averted his gaze.

“Fine,” Tristan sighed at length. “Come here.”

Bewildered at the command, Constantin merely watched as Tristan circled a hand around Constantin’s lower back and pulled him into an embrace.

Constantin froze in surprise, body tensed from head to toe. His heart started hammering in his chest as Tristan placed his hands on his back, quietly holding him, nose pressed against the collar of Constantin’s coat. He had assumed Tristan would be keeping his distance after what happened in bed. It was not as if they’d never embraced before, but it was very unusual for Tristan to initiate it; usually Constantin was the one always hanging off of him or clinging to him.

Sensing his tension, Tristan started pulled away again, embarrassment in his voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—"

Before he could fully retreat Constantin wrapped his arms around him, pulling him back in as his hands clung to the back of Tristan’s coat. If he could have this, unexpected as it was, then he would not protest.

Constantin had often been called overly sensitive, and though often said as a criticism of one of his many failings, it was the truth. He couldn’t care or love just a little. It was either his entire being poured into his feelings, or nothing at all.

Swallowing hard, he bent his head down and buried his face into Tristan’s neck. How blissful their connection felt now, even sweeter as he didn’t expect it to form again. Fingers twisting into Tristan’s coat, he held him as if his life depended on it.

It did, in a way. He was Constantin’s lifeline. Always had been.

“Don’t get married.”

The words slipped from his mouth before he could help it, and Tristan shifted back a little to look at him in surprise. Constantin cursed his own foolishness as he felt his neck flush with embarrassment.

“What I mean is—”

Tristan’s palm pressed against his cheek, a shock of warmth that had Constantin speechless as he stared into Tristan’s eyes. He realized for the first time how close their faces were, their arms still locked around each other in an embrace that had been meant for comfort, but had now turned intimate in a way that made Constantin’s heart flutter.

“I told you,” Tristan said with a smile that almost seemed pained, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not leaving you, Constantin. I promise.”

Constantin remained very still, all but holding his breath, afraid the slightest motion might break this perfect moment as his eyes flit down to Tristan’s lips. When he looked up and met Tristan’s eyes again, it was as if lightning struck, passing between their bodies, charging the air between them.

As if entranced, Tristan slowly leaned in until Constantin could feel his hot breath against his mouth.

“Tristan,” Constantin pleaded desperately, not knowing what he was pleading for. “I—”

“_Lords, ladies, esteemed guests_!”

His father’s voice pierced through the thin glass of the windows, and the moment broke.

They separated at the same time as the prince announced it was time to move to the dining room for supper, neither of them able to properly look at each other.

“We, ah…” Tristan cleared his throat. “We should…”

“Yes, right.” Constantin felt dazed as he straightened out his coat, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve as he avoided Tristan’s gaze. “Lead the way.”

Seeming relieved for the excuse, Tristan nodded and quickly moved to open the balcony doors and headed back inside. Constantin followed a step behind him, heart still racing as a sinking realization settled in the depths of his chest like a physical weight, his eyes opened to feelings he had so desperately tried to ignore for years.

He was in love with Tristan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i was a little bit too ambitious with my editing because i wanted to make up for the long periods between the updates and ended up editing 10k words all at once haha woops, rip to trajektoria who has to proofread all that
> 
> it was all in tristan's pov so i've decided to split it up into chapter 3 and chapter 4! which means i'll be able to upload chapter 4 next week!! and after that we'll go back to constantin's pov for a chapter or two to even it out

Dining among nobles was a performance that Tristan knew intimately, like the steps of a ballroom dance followed in front of a crowd.

A single wrong move or a word spoken out of turn would be magnified for all to see, something Tristan witnessed firsthand as a child whenever Constantin would buck the rules of decorum constraining him, only to be humiliated for it in front of an audience by his parents. A swift punishment in order to correct him, one he eventually learned to maneuver around out of necessity. 

Tristan, on his end, adhered to the rules only so he could get through the ordeal as quickly as possible, often persuading Constantin to do the same for his own sake. Large banquets like these were Tristan’s least favorite event during the social season, and so he usually took great care to avoid any mistakes.

Not this time.

It wasn’t intentional, but he could not focus on the steps of the dance when in his mind he was still standing on the balcony, gazing into sun-bright eyes and drawn forward by a force beyond him—or perhaps, by a force innate to him, something he had always fought against, as futile as swimming against the tide.

Tristan found himself paralyzed by it, and it showed during the banquet. He trailed behind the others as they took their seats, startling to attention only when Constantin subtly tugged at his coat from beside him. His thoughts were so consumed by the image of Constantin’s lips, parted slightly as they had whispered his name, that Tristan could not bring himself to even glance at his cousin sitting beside him, let alone speak to him.

It wasn’t just the moment on the balcony. It wasn’t just the embrace. It wasn’t just waking up beside Constantin with his heart still racing from a dream of lips and fingers and kisses and bites, a touch against his leg that had sent him into a panic.

It was the way it started spiraling out of his control so quickly, slipping through the cracks in the walls he had built around these feelings, ever widening.

He felt Constantin’s gaze on the side of his face more than once during the dinner, even caught Constantin wanting to speak from the corner of his eyes, though he never seemed to be able to give voice to the question Tristan knew he wanted to ask.

On his end, Tristan knew he was being immature and cowardly as he tried to listen to the conversations of the nobles around him instead, picking up bits and pieces of it in an effort to distract himself.

The topic of the evening appeared to be Teer Fradee, the distant island recently discovered. Both Thélème and the Bridge Alliance had already settled there, which only increased pressure on the prince to establish territory for the Merchant Congregation as well.

Tristan thought it all supremely bizarre, the way the people around him spoke of it as if it were unoccupied, when there were native people who already lived there. He would not have known this had Sir de Courcillon not educated them on the subject; the way the nobles discussed it, one would think it were a completely deserted island. It was his professor’s honesty alone that had given Tristan a different perspective on the issue from most of his peers and betters.

“What do you think, my lord?” Lady Harcourt, seated across from him, asked him when she noticed him following along with the conversation. “Are you expecting a voyage to Teer Fradee any time soon?”

“My uncle has not informed me of such, no,” Tristan replied, ill at ease with the thought.

Colonization was not an unfamiliar concept. Many wars for already occupied territory had been fought on the continent by Thélème and the Bridge Alliance, and those had never resolved peacefully. If his history lessons had thought Tristan anything, nothing good could come from invading another’s land and claiming a home there, but few of those in the Congregation thought the same. All they could see was an opportunity for profit.

Their own history had not been as rife with war. They were merchants, first and foremost, and seldom took a side. Many were proud of their neutrality in times of conflict, as their nation prioritized trade, but accruing wealth was part of that. If the pressure was great enough, Tristan didn’t doubt his uncle would decide to follow in the footsteps of Thélème and the Bridge Alliance.

The prince, usually a very calculating man, had been uncharacteristically timid on this issue, even refusing to address the possibility for several years on end. Lately, though, he seemed to be warming up to the idea.

Nobles like Duke Aubert were doubtlessly the cause of that, nudging the prince toward the idea little by little. The duke was likely angling to give his eldest son a valuable position as a part of that ploy, as Lady Harcourt had mentioned to Tristan in the parlor, before Constantin had cut off the conversation.

Tristan chose not to participate in most of the gossip happening around him from that point on, though that had the adverse effect of there being nothing to distract him from Constantin’s presence by his side.

Thankfully, his cousin was being kept busy by a noble sitting on the other side of him who had engaged him in a conversation. Tristan still noticed the glances Constantin shot his way, though he was too busy fending off the exasperating questions from the noble to try and talk to Tristan.

It was then that Tristan caught Dominic’s eyes from across the table, sitting beside Lady Harcourt and sipping quietly from his wine as he let the chatter wash over him. He noticed Tristan looking, and smiled in commiseration from behind his cup.

“How are you holding up, my lord?” he asked, glancing at Lady Harcourt and Lord Boudet animatedly discussing the potential gain in trade for timber should the Congregation settle on the island. “Evenings like these can be quite exhausting, in my experience.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Tristan replied, smiling back lightly. The potatoes on his plate had long grown cold, his duck breast half eaten as he’d lost his appetite halfway through the night. “It’s a shame the banquet was not held in the downstairs dining room. I could’ve gone for a stroll in the gardens.”

“I have not had the chance to see them yet,” Dominic considered with interest, leaning slightly over the table toward him. “I’ve heard Her Majesty has cultivated many exotic flowers from different regions.”

“Indeed.” Tristan glanced toward his aunt, conversing politely with Duke Aubert only a few seats up from them. “I could give you a tour, if you’d like. The gardener might not let you see them without having an escort to watch you; my aunt is very protective of her collection.”

“I’d be glad to take you up on that offer,” Dominic said, pleased, and Tristan was ready to end the conversation there when his gaze nonchalantly slid over to the prince, and he noticed his uncle watching him intently.

Tristan arched his brows slightly in surprise as the prince glanced at Dominic with consideration, before he was distracted by Duke Aubert again and averted his eyes.

Strange.

“Tristan.”

Constantin’s voice had his shoulders stiffening, pulling his attention toward his cousin who apparently had found something to say after the long length of silence that had reigned between them.

Tristan caught Constantin’s stare briefly flitting toward Dominic before looking back at him again, a subtle wrinkle between his brows. “What were you and the duke’s spawn talking about?”

His tone was bordering on acerbic, and even with Constantin’s streak of possessiveness, Tristan had never quite seen him take a disliking to someone so quickly.

“Nothing of import, he merely expressed an interest in seeing the gardens,” Tristan answered cautiously, watching Constantin frown openly now. “There’s no need to insult him, you know. He’s been perfectly polite so far.”

Constantin huffed, seeming distinctly unconvinced as he lifted his knife and fork to cut up his duck breast instead. “So far.”

The rest of the banquet passed in silence, though not because of a charged atmosphere between them as there had been before. Rather, Constantin appeared to be brooding now, likely about Dominic.

Constantin had never been good with sharing Tristan. Not that it had been a problem before, as their peers tended to be more interested in mocking Tristan than befriending him, but the few times someone their age had tried to approach him in friendship, Constantin had made sure a certain distance would be kept.

His methods for doing so had not been kind. Tristan always chalked it up to protectiveness, seeing as how Constantin would always vigorously defend him from his bullies by giving back everything they dished out, tenfold.

But if he was being truthful, it wasn’t just protectiveness. It was possessiveness, and yet, it didn’t bother Tristan as much as it should’ve. Maybe because he was the same.

He felt a great sense of relief when the evening drew to an end and he could head back to his bedroom without raising eyebrows. Constantin accompanied him, still silently stewing, trailing a step behind him.

“Constantin…” Tristan halted before he finished the question, eyes aimed straight ahead as he considered his words carefully. “Does Dominic bother you that much?”

“What?” Constantin sounded distracted, catching up a step to walk beside him, lip curling in a sneer. “Don’t tell me you are still thinking about the Aubert’s prized horse?”

“Horse?” Tristan repeated incredulously. “I… suppose it is marginally better than _spawn_, though I have to wonder what the man has done for you to despise him this much already.”

“He’s been making eyes at you all evening,” Constantin complained, and Tristan almost smiled at how accurate his suspicions had been. “I’ve no doubt his father encouraged him to try and snare you into an engagement to increase their family’s standing. They’re nothing but opportunistic parasites—”

“So you’re jealous,” Tristan concluded in a lighthearted tone, meaning it as a tease, but the way Constantin then suddenly stopped walking, eyes widening like he’d been caught, gave a different meaning to the word that Tristan had intended to be harmless.

Constantin looked conflicted as he avoided Tristan’s gaze, but when he met his eyes once more, his expression was as vulnerable as Tristan had ever seen it. Time seemed to stop as Constantin took a step closer to him, just a small step, but it changed everything.

“How could I not be?” Constantin spoke softly, similar to the pleading tone he’d used on the balcony as his gaze took in Tristan’s features, trailing down to his mouth and Tristan’s heart began to pound, heat spreading beneath his skin. “Tristan, you’re—”

For a moment, only a moment, Tristan wanted Constantin to close the gap.

As soon as the thought passed through his mind, Tristan raised his hand to press his fingers over his mouth, feeling like his legs were about to give out from underneath him, and Constantin fell silent in confusion.

“Tristan?” 

He felt physically ill. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be between them, this- it could never be, he knew that, had always known that and had tried to kill these feelings inside of him because of it. But he’d failed.

As he looked at Constantin, he could feel nothing but love for him, except… _except_ that it was tainted now, just like how Tristan’s heart was tainted by these desires, impossible to ignore after they’d been laid bare in front of him.

God, but he wanted.

Tristan exhaled unsteadily, breathing hard as he covered his eyes with a hand. “Forgive me, Constantin, but I… I need to go lie down. I suddenly feel unwell.”

His bedroom was just around the corner and he should leave before he did something he’d regret, but as he lowered his hand again to look at Constantin once more and saw the pained expression on his face, Tristan was overcome.

Hand curling around the back of Constantin’s neck, Tristan pulled him in for a tight embrace before he could think better of it, fingers clinging to the fabric of Constantin’s coat as he whispered in a strained voice, “I’m sorry.”

It was the only way he could apologize without revealing himself for the degenerate that he was, but he could not bear to linger in the embrace out of fear, terrified that he’d unwittingly take advantage of Constantin, and so he pulled away just as quickly.

“Tristan—”

“Good night,” he said softly, avoiding Constantin’s pleading eyes as he turned around and headed for his bedroom without looking back, slipping quietly around the corner of the hallway and out of his cousin’s sight.

The moment he entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him he sagged against it, brushing a hand through his hair, then grabbing at it in tight, almost painful grip as Constantin’s warmth still lingered on his skin, his heart pounding in his chest.

As much as he wanted to, Tristan couldn’t deny it anymore.

He was in love with Constantin.

Tristan stayed at the door for what felt like an eternity, not making a sound until his heartbeat finally slowed. Once it did, he slid down to the ground, knees pulled up and both hands in his hair.

Deliriously he wondered what it would be like to kiss Constantin, loathed himself for thinking it, felt disgust well up inside him but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d tried so hard to deny it, to disguise what he felt as familial affection when it was nothing so pure.

When had things gotten so out of hand? If he could ask for one thing he’d wish to take it all back, to keep living in denial like he had before, but it was too late for that. Things between him and Constantin would never be the same again, he knew, and he mourned for it. Grieved it like he’d lost his best friend, his only confidante, his _beloved cousin_, because in a way, he had lost him.

This terrible secret would now live between them for the rest of their lives.

Tristan went to bed that night in a state of emotional exhaustion, falling fast asleep and this time at least, his mind granted him mercy and gave him no more dreams.

* * *

He woke the next morning without any desire to get out of bed.

Normally Tristan enjoyed rising with the sun, experiencing the way the air gradually warmed and light filtered in through the curtains and windows, but he couldn’t muster up any of his usual energy as he stayed in bed and stared up silently at his ceiling.

Last night’s events were fresh in his mind, lingered there throughout his sleep, waiting to torment him again as soon as his eyes opened. Tristan didn’t want to get out of bed and face the sun, he wanted to stay underneath his covers where it was safe and let the world pass him by, but he had no choice. Putting it off would only make it worse.

Heaving himself out of bed, Tristan began his morning routine that now felt arduous as he absently went through the motions: opening the curtains, cleaning his face with the wash bowl in his room and brushing his teeth, rubbing cologne onto his skin, enlisting a servant to help reign in his curls with a comb and a special type of rosemary oil, and finally picking fresh new attire to get dressed in. 

By the time he was staring indecisively at himself in his mirror, obsessively unbuttoning and re-buttoning his blue coat, he knew that he was procrastinating. 

Tristan sighed, collapsing down onto an armchair by the window after dismissing the servant who had helped him. How on earth was he supposed to face Constantin in this state?

It was pitiful, frankly, how quickly the façade had collapsed, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what had spurred it on. Was it the pressure on him because of his debut? Had it simply been a matter of his endurance reaching an end after all these years? Was it the talk of future engagements that had forced him to face his feelings? Perhaps none of these things, perhaps all of them at once.

All Tristan knew was that there was no turning back from this.

There was a knock on his door.

Constantin, of course. It had to be Constantin; they always met up with each other in the mornings and had breakfast together before attending their classes.

Tristan considered pretending to be asleep, but trying to stall this any longer would get him nowhere. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he rose from his armchair and crossed the room to his door.

All he had to do was pretend everything was normal. He was good at that, pretending. He’d had years of practice with it, though it would be different now that he was so keenly aware of what he felt.

Tristan bit his lip as he placed his hand on the doorknob, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts, put his mask in place, and then opened the door.

He intended to greet Constantin with a smile and a routine good morning, but the second he saw Constantin’s face, it all fell away.

Had Constantin always been this handsome?

The way the sunlight lit his golden eyes was captivating, casting soft shadows over his face, highlighting his chiseled features in a delicate way. Tristan’s gaze trailed over the sculpted line of Constantin’s jaw to soft lips tinged with pink, and his heartbeat fluttered unsteadily as he inhaled a quiet but sharp breath, casting his eyes down when heat flushed his face.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, cursing himself for doing exactly what he told himself he wouldn’t do—god, it had only taken a single_ look_ at Constantin’s face and Tristan already found himself a wreck.

“Good morning, cousin,” Constantin replied brightly, and it took all Tristan had not to wince at the word _cousin_, so much so that he almost missed the odd cheerfulness with which Constantin greeted him, as if last night had never happened. “You look resplendent today!”

Tristan blinked up at him in surprise as Constantin looked at him with a smile that seemed a little… strained. The corners of his mouth pulled a little too wide, too stiff.

Clearing his throat, Tristan glanced back up at Constantin’s eyes and noticed they looked tired. His brow furrowed, worry immediately overtaking whatever personal turmoil had been raging inside of him. “Did you not sleep well?”

Constantin waved a dismissive hand at him. “Don’t worry about me. The night was too pretty to waste it on sleeping! But tell me, how do you feel? Better, I hope?”

He placed his hand on Tristan’s shoulder, enough to make Tristan tense up slightly, but quickly gone again as Constantin pulled back in an almost jerky motion. Tristan raised his eyebrows slightly when he did; Constantin wasn’t usually jumpy when it came to physical affection.

“Yes, I’m fine now,” Tristan answered measuredly, attempted a smile of his own to smooth over the awkward atmosphere between them. “It was a minor headache, nothing more.”

“Good.” Constantin took a breath, smiling uncertainly back at him. “That’s good.”

There fell an uneasy silence as both of them averted their eyes, awkward and stiff in a way Tristan had never experienced before, not around Constantin. Never around Constantin. They were always honest with each other, could be themselves without fear of judgment, but that had changed now, hadn’t it?

Tristan had changed it.

“Shall we have some breakfast then?” he proposed, eager to do anything but stand at his door. “I’d rather not train on an empty stomach.”

Constantin actually sighed with relief.

“Breakfast sounds great,” he agreed eagerly. “To the kitchens, then? Unless you have a mind to join the nobles at the dinner table.”

“The kitchens it is,” Tristan replied, managing a slight smile before he stepped outside of his room, closing the door behind him and leading the way through the corridor.

As they walked, however, Tristan quickly felt his eyes drawn back toward Constantin’s weary face. Despite his bright demeanor there were clearly shadows beneath his eyes, emphasizing the gauntness in his face that had always tended toward being unhealthy.

They reached the kitchens, greeted by the servants. It wasn’t unusual for the two of them, especially for Constantin, to dine here instead of joining other nobles for the meal. Aside from that, there would also be more people present in the kitchens considering the servants would be up and preparing everything for the guests, which meant there was less risk of Tristan doing or saying something he might regret. 

He and Constantin sat down at the table in the corner. The servants were in the middle of preparing breakfast for the rest of the castle, so fresh loaves of bread, eggs, ham, jams, tea and other victuals were laid out swiftly before Tristan and Constantin.

Tristan heard Constantin’s stomach rumbling from across the table, laughing a little as Constantin grinned back at him with embarrassment, and it almost felt as if things were going back to normal between them. Perhaps breakfast wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it seemed to be a good start.

That thought, however, quickly proved to be naive. Tristan was in the midst reaching for a slice of bread, when disaster struck.

A servant girl—maybe fifteen years of age, no more—who was carrying a jug of water to their table, stumbled and ended up pouring everything onto the front of Constantin’s pants.

Surprised, his cousin jumped to his feet with a yelp while Tristan quickly got up and reached for a table cloth to help dry the mess off with.

Meanwhile, the mortified girl paled like a sheet, her hand pressed to her mouth.

“Your Highness! I am so sorry, I am so terribly sorry! I’m–”

“What have you done this time, your foolish girl?” The royal cook all but materialized at her side and grabbed her ear, twisting it. The girl wailed in pain, bursting into tears, cradling the empty jug like a baby.

Tristan wished he could say he was shocked by it, but such displays were hardly unusual in the prince’s palace. Not even the servants were equal in this place; the royal cook, he knew, came from a well-to-do family that had paid a hefty sum to train him in the culinary arts. The prince, after all, demanded excellence.

Compared to a mere servant girl scraping by on a meager allowance, there was nothing she could do but accept her punishment if she wished to keep her employment.

“I was… I was just—”

The cook did not listen to the girl’s crying as he saw the wet stains on Constantin’s trousers, turning his ire on the girl once more. “Oh, you useless, _worthless_ wench! This is the last time you’ll step foot in here, I promise you that!” He turned to Constantin, tone immediately shifting to one of blatant groveling. “My humblest apologies, Your Highness, I’ll make sure she faces the consequences of her actions.”

Tristan did not see the need to intervene, not when he knew exactly how his cousin would react. Constantin’s expression changed from mild annoyance to the look of grim determination and fury.

“You will do no such thing!” He approached the royal cook, who stared at him in surprise. “Let go of that poor girl this instant!”

When the cook obeyed, Constantin stood in front of the terrified girl and put his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s your name?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

“D-Danielle, Y-Your Highness.”

“Danielle,” he repeated kindly. “Everything is fine, I’m not angry with you and you won’t be punished. Mistakes happen. You are not worthless, don’t let anyone make you believe that.” He took the hand away and turned to the cook again. “I want you to tell the steward that His Highness Constantin d’Orsay_ personally_ requests that the wages of Danielle will be doubled, starting from today. If any harm comes to this girl, then I’ll see to it that your wage is halved. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The cook didn’t look happy, but he replied with reverence. The servant girl stared at Constantin in a shock that Tristan thought might turn into adoration at any second.

“Good.” Constantin shot the cook a last disdainful look. “Carry on then.”

Danielle thanked Constantin tearfully, curtseyed and scuttered away. The cook walked back to the stove, clearly displeased but intelligent enough not to be blatant about it.

It reminded Tristan of their childhood, when other children from noble houses would pick on him for the mark on his face. Tristan had always brushed their taunts off with indifference, never letting them have the satisfaction of making him upset, which had only served to make them despise him even more, but they’d never had any recourse seeing as how Constantin, always by his side, would jump to his defense and shut them up before they could think to try anything more.

Tristan scoffed, bitterly amused. Some of those same childhood bullies were now sycophants, fawning over him and his cousin to try and curry some favor for their families now that they understood their social positions. Funny how things worked out.

He was still lost in his memories when Constantin returned to the table, and the wet stain was fully visible to Tristan for the first time, though he immediately wished he hadn’t looked.

Constantin’s trousers, having been already tight with a light-colored fabric to boot, revealed quite a bit more of his groin than what was appropriate.

Tristan’s hand reflexively clutched at the edge of the table, shifting his legs uncomfortably as his blood ran hot and he quickly looked away.

The last time he’d seen Constantin fully naked was when they were very young children still bathing together, and he barely even remembered that at this point. Occasionally Tristan had also seen Constantin with his shirt off, sometimes after training when it had gotten sweat-soaked, but he’d never seen anything like this before.

Even if Constantin wasn’t actually bare, the way the fabric clung to his shape made Tristan flush hot in the face and in… other areas he would preferably ignore before he started feeling ill with self-loathing again.

Constantin, oblivious to the thoughts swirling in Tristan’s head, sighed loudly.

“If I hear a single joke about how I wet my pants, I will smash that jug over your head,” he said, the threat made empty by his smile.

His cousin had no reason to worry on that front; Tristan was in no state to muster up any humor about the situation.

“Perhaps—” Tristan felt his voice almost crack in his throat as he avoided Constantin’s eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Perhaps you should get a change of pants, before we head down to meet Kurt? I don’t think, ah, trying to train with wet pants will be very pleasant.”

Constantin hummed pensively.

“Perhaps I should, we’ll see after breakfast.” He shrugged as he took his seat again. “Maybe it will dry on its own. It’s just water, after all.”

At least Constantin was seated now, which meant the distracting stain was also obscured from Tristan’s view. Naturally his cruel thoughts did their utmost to remind him of it, though, even if he could no longer stare.

It raised all sorts of questions. Tristan had always known that he was solely attracted to men, but he had never been so engrossed in the physical side of it before. Naturally whenever he saw a pleasing male form he would admire it, feel a carnal sort of interest for it, and as a boy nearing adolescence he had spent many a night exploring fantasies in the safety of his own bedroom, but this wasn’t the same.

He had someone in particular to focus his interest on, now—not just elusive and vague images of some imaginary man he’d dreamed up in his mind—and it also happened to be the one person his interest _shouldn’t _be focused on at all. The very notion of fantasizing about Constantin in that way…

But hadn’t he done so already?

Tristan rubbed over his face with his hand, his food all but forgotten as he tried to think of something else, anything else before his imaginings got out of control.

“Dear cousin, don’t make me feed you myself,” Constantin spoke, breaking up his thoughts as Tristan almost startled from it, blinking down at his nearly untouched plate. He didn’t think he could eat at this point, though he knew he should try. “I will be a terrible nanny, I can assure you. Besides, you’ll need your strength if you want to go against Kurt!” 

Constantin was trying to lighten the mood to ease the air between them in turn, but it wasn’t working. The tension between them lingered as Tristan avoided Constantin’s eyes, could not even bring himself to reply.

In response, Constantin’s expression turned more serious as he leaned across the table to be closer to his cousin. “Tristan…”

Tristan looked up reluctantly at Constantin, leaning across the table toward him and making Tristan’s posture stiffen with unease as he tried not to flinch.

“Please, tell me what’s going on with you,” Constantin pleaded. “Despite your assurances earlier, you seem truly unwell. I promise you I will understand, whatever it is…”

He paused, chewing on his lower lip. “Or at least assure me that it’s nothing serious if you don’t want to say anything. Keep your secret if you have to, but know that… if you’re hiding something important from me, I will never forgive you. So… should I be worried?”

Tristan breathed out the air he’d just inhaled again in a deep breath, one that felt hotter than usual likely because his whole body felt like it had been burning the entire time he’d been sitting at this table.

“It’s nothing like that,” he reassured Constantin. “It’s…”

He hesitated. How could he explain this without giving anything away? Should he simply lie? Should he deflect, or obscure, or tell half-truths? He didn’t know.

“It’ll pass,” he finally said, though it was more like his own prayer than a real answer. “But should it ever reach a point where I can no longer handle it on my own, then I will tell you. I promise.”

Constantin gave him a long look, but then eventually relented.

“All right.” He pulled back, leaning against his chair and offering Tristan a smile. “I trust you. And I’m here for you whenever you need me. Always.”

Tristan nodded silently in acknowledgement, trying not to choke on his own guilt. Maybe someday he truly might tell Constantin, just to be free of it, free of the secret and the burden on his heart even though he knew it would destroy him.

The rest of the meal they spent in silence, eating. To his credit Tristan actually managed to get a bit of food in his stomach after that, enough to where he no longer felt like he was running on fumes at least. Constantin meanwhile more than made up for the delay with a hearty number of eggs and sandwiches with jam. Ever since he was a child, his cousin had had a sweet tooth, a preference that hadn’t changed as they’d aged.

Once Tristan finished eating, he glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing it was almost ten already. “Should we get going? You know how cranky Kurt can get when we’re late.”

Constantin stretched in his seat while trying to suppress a yawn behind the back of his hand, and Tristan’s traitor eyes could not help but glance over Constantin’s lean body, desire curling in his gut even as he turned his gaze away again.

“Go… go on ahead, Tristan,” Constantin mumbled through his yawn, blinking and wiping away the tears at the corners of his eyes; he truly must not have gotten much sleep last night. “Send my regards to our illustrious teacher. I need to return to my room and change these pants; my hopes that they would dry by now were over optimistic. My nether regions are melting and that’s hardly a pleasant experience, believe me.”

He winked at Tristan who could do nothing but stare, having tried so very hard before to avoid thinking about anything improper, yet found all his efforts for naught as vivid images flashed in his mind, each more obscene than the next.

“See you in ten?” Constantin prompted when Tristan continued to silently stare at him.

Tristan all but shot up out of his seat, the skin of his face glowing red, his own trousers grown uncomfortably tight but thankfully hidden from view by the edge of the table.

“Yes, of course- I’ll- I’ll go on ahead,” he said quickly, an uncharacteristic stammer and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Constantin anymore, not when his mind was filled with filth. “Don’t take too long.” 

As Tristan quickly walked away, nearly running into a servant in his hurry to leave, he berated himself for every thought of what Constantin might look like without any clothes on, what he might feel like, what he might_ taste_ like.

He stalked through the hallways toward the courtyard until he couldn’t bear it anymore and stopped to lean his burning forehead against the cool stone of a wall.

“Don’t,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t, don’t, _don’t_.”

He had to stop thinking about this, had to focus on something else, wanting to tear his hair out from pure frustration. He didn’t know how long he stood there, doubtlessly would’ve looked somewhat crazy to anyone who happened to pass by at that moment, but then a voice from a room nearby caught his attention.

Even in his heat-dazed state, Tristan distinctly picked up on the words of his uncle. Well, that was certainly one surefire way to kill any arousal that had been torturing him, though not the approach he would’ve thought of taking.

“…benefit to us both.”

Tristan moved toward the closed door, realizing he was standing in front of his uncle’s study. Eavesdropping wasn’t strictly polite, but he desperately needed the distraction.

“Indeed,” another voice said. “I am glad we could come to an agreement.”

Duke Aubert? Tristan frowned. What would his uncle and Duke Aubert possibly have to talk about?

“Is your eldest son aware?” his uncle asked.

Duke Aubert laughed, retorting, “Is your nephew?”

Tristan frowned deeply, a troubled feeling settling in his chest. Dominic and him?

“In any case, it’s settled,” his uncle decided. “We’ll make the announcement during the ball at the end of the week.”

Tristan heard movement then, a chair being scooted back over the floor, and he quickly retreated from the door, hurrying along down the hallway as the ominous conversation played back in his mind. What were Duke Aubert and his uncle talking about, and how did it involve him and Dominic? It was supposedly an arrangement beneficial to both parties, but all that Duke Aubert had to offer was—

His heart nearly stopped when he realized.

Tristan stood there, frozen, for what felt like a very long while. By the time he’d finally made his way down to the courtyard, Kurt—who’d already been waiting—turned around with a frown to chew him out for being late, but one look at Tristan’s face and his master of arms’ irritation turned into thinly-veiled concern.

“Something happen?” Kurt inquired, trying to come off as nonchalant though the way he was staring at Tristan gave him away. “You look as pale as a ghost. Walk like one, too.”

Tristan felt exactly like a ghost, too, only barely present as he remained in a state of shock.

He was going to be married off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on time!!! hurray me!!!!
> 
> if i had to give this chapter a title, "trainwreck" would probably be it

“Green Blood?” Kurt prodded when Tristan remained silent, standing there in the courtyard and gazing blankly back at him. “What—”

“I’m going to be engaged.”

As he spoke the words, Tristan’s shock faded away and made place for horror. The one thing he had feared the most when the season started had come true, and so much sooner than he’d anticipated.

How long had his uncle been planning this? From the conversation he’d overheard, it seemed the prince and the duke had only just sealed the agreement, but they must’ve been discussing it quite some time beforehand. It wasn’t every day a close member of the ruling house—especially one who could potentially be in line for the throne, as the prince’s nephew—was engaged. There had to have been many considerations made.

Tristan suddenly remembered all the looks his uncle shot him whenever he spoke with Dominic, the way his aunt pressed him to become friends. Had they been negotiating this even before the start of the season?

“My uncle,” Tristan spoke at length, swallowing thickly as his mouth felt unbearably dry. “I heard him talking to Duke Aubert on the way here, he… he’s planning on marrying me off.”

Kurt merely stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck. “Well, shit.”

Oh, god—Constantin.

_“I’m not leaving you, Constantin. I promise.” _

What a terrible joke. Not a day had passed and already Tristan knew he would have to break that promise, spoken so easily. How naive he’d been.

“Don’t tell Constantin,” Tristan pleaded to Kurt, knowing it to be a foolish notion but he couldn’t bear to tell him, not when he knew what it would do to his cousin who’d already been getting anxious with Tristan’s distant behavior.

If he found out like this it would hurt him more than anything else, and that would kill Tristan. He needed time to think, to process this.

“What?” Kurt gave him a doubtful look. “You realize he’s going to find out—”

“Kurt, please.”

Giving him a long look, Kurt finally nodded. Just in time as well.

“Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come,” Tristan heard Constantin say from behind him, and when he turned around to face him he was overcome with a sudden sense of dreadful clarity.

Maybe this was for the better, he thought even as his heart cracked and broke inside his chest, splintering off piece by piece piercing his lungs, making it harder to breathe. Tristan cast his eyes down to the ground, closing them briefly and sucked in a deep breath.

This_ had_ to be for the better. He had until the end of the week to cherish whatever time he had left with Constantin before he became officially engaged, and then, after that… he would belong to someone else, his freedom taken from him. Would have to let Constantin go, and would force Constantin to let him go in turn. Might even get used to it, eventually.

It was a terrible betrayal of his promise not to leave Constantin, but it was far better than the alternative. One that might ruin them both.

“We hadn’t started yet,” Tristan said, not even attempting a smile as he knew he didn’t have it in him to pretend. His chest was a gaping hole, swallowing him up from the inside out. “Kurt?”

Kurt paused for a moment, glancing between the two of them, before he finally relented. “Right. Let’s get to it, then.”

Tristan’s blade was a heavier weight than usual as he faced Constantin, going through the motions but not truly present. It was a dangerous state of mind to be in; their practice weapons might have been blunted, but they were still quite real. Without wearing proper fencing suits, a stab from a rapier could still do quite a bit of damage.

Even though Tristan knew all this, he couldn’t put any energy into his training once he and Constantin had both bowed as was customary before Kurt gave the signal to start. Tristan’s movements were halfhearted at best, careless at worst; the tip of his rapier hardly reached Constantin at all.

How could he be expected to spar against Constantin in earnest when merely looking at his face made Tristan’s heart ache? Kurt seemed to realize as much as well, because a minute into the fight he put an end to it.

“Stop!”

Tristan lowered his rapier, gaze cast down to the ground, shoulders slumped and hand weakly curled around the handle of his sword.

“This is going nowhere,” he heard Kurt state with frustration, before a longsword came into his view, held out to him by his teacher. “Get rid of the rapier, we’re going to have a round until you get your head on straight.”

Tristan’s mouth pulled into a displeased line as he traded his rapier for a regular longsword, though admittedly the weapon fit his fighting style better than the precision of a rapier. He was quick and agile, but he relied more on swings than stabbing motions.

“Ready?” Kurt said, using his two-handed sword. “Put your all into it, Green Blood, or I promise I’ll run you over!”

That’s right. He didn’t need to hold back with Kurt. Tristan took a deep breath, feeling the emptiness inside him twist into something dark, something aching that yearned to lash out, so lash out he did. Tristan did not even think anymore as he charged at Kurt, acting on pure emotion as he poured everything into his every swing, until his arms started to hurt and sweat soaked his shirt.

Kurt blocked him, dodged him, hit him a few times with his blunted sword and the pangs of pain only spurred Tristan on to fight harder, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw began to hurt, palms stinging as blisters began to form—the usual care he took to maintain a proper stance had been thrown out of the window.

He swung and swung and swung until his body couldn’t anymore, collapsing onto his knees and breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead onto the ground as he let his sword clatter to the ground, the skin of his hands reddened and painful from his poor grip.

“Had enough?” Kurt said, though not unsympathetically. “Go get cleaned up, I’ll finish up with Constantin.”

Dismissing Tristan as he did might just have been the kindest thing Kurt could’ve done for him. He felt raw and exposed like an open wound, looking like a wild animal no doubt, tears in his shirt from where Kurt’s sword had cut through the fabric, bruises already beginning to form underneath. But he felt calmer now, if nothing else. 

It seemed Constantin, however, couldn’t let him go so easily. Before Tristan left, Constantin came to him, looked him up, assessing the damage, a pained expression on his face. After a long moment, Constantin sank onto his knees in front of him.

“Oh, Tristan,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around Tristan’s neck and pulling him close. “I’m here. I’m here for you.” 

Saints forgive him but Tristan couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the embrace. Now that he’d emptied himself out, drained of all energy from his fight against Kurt, he had no more defenses to offer when Constantin’s arms curled around him, soft and loving words of comfort breathed against his neck.

Tristan only barely suppressed the shudder that ran down his spine, couldn’t bring himself to hug Constantin in return, but still basked in the temporary warmth he was offered, before Constantin pulled back again.

“See you later, yes?” Constantin said, his smile wan. “During the class?”

“I’ll be there,” Tristan replied quietly, managing to somehow push himself up to his feet.

Walking away from Constantin then was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. What he wouldn’t give to be able to return to his embrace, bury his face against his neck to hide from the rest of the world, but he couldn’t. So he left.

By the time he was walking the hallways toward his room and instructed a servant to bring him some hot water to clean up with on the way, Tristan felt sore and exhausted. The past two days had been a whirlwind of emotional turmoil and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with it. Still, he had to push on.

So he went up to his room, took care of his wounds and washed off his sweat, put on a new shirt and collapsed onto his bed for a while. By the time Sir de Courcillon’s lesson was about to start, Tristan felt sore from head to toe, but still managed to push himself off the bed to start making his way to the study, where he and Constantin were always tutored.

He wished he could just get this whole week over with.

* * *

Watching Tristan walk away, his head hanging low as if in defeat, was one of the hardest things Constantin had ever done.

He wanted to go after him, tend to his wounds, comfort him however he could. They didn’t even have to talk if Tristan didn’t want to, it was fine. Constantin would be happy just to sing for him like he did before as they laid sprawled on the couch, their legs intertwined, his hands running through Tristan’s hair…

The scene, so domestic and loving, hurt him like a stab to the heart. It would never happen, would it? At best, they’d remain friends, gradually drifting apart with every day. It had already started, and he had no idea how to deal with it. The only lifeline he had was slipping from his fingers.

When he turned to Kurt, tears were glistening in his eyes, but his clenched jaw spoke of determination.

“What was that?” he demanded, pulling a veil of anger over his fears.

Kurt arched his brows, unimpressed by the tantrum of a noble boy; in the face of his composure, Constantin felt immature, smaller, and it only made him lash out harder.

“A bout of sparring, Your Highness,” Kurt replied, the title digging into Constantin’s skin like the pricks of a needle.

“Sparring?” Constantin balled his fists at his sides, squeezing so tightly that his fingernails dug crescent shapes into his palms. “You hurt him, on purpose!”

“As tends to happen during a spar,” Kurt said, crossing his arms over his chest, unaffected by Constantin’s temper, though he eyed him guardedly.

Constantin gritted his teeth. “I want to know what were you talking about before I came. You made Tristan worse! What did you tell him? Speak!”

He didn’t want it to go like this, to lose grip on himself like this. All he wanted was some answers for a change. He was certain that Kurt was somehow responsible for Tristan’s mood getting worse, and that was a crime in his eyes, one of the worst that could be.

“You will have to ask Tristan about that,” Kurt answered, stating nothing more.

“So you did talk to him?” Constantin pressed, spurred on by the scowl that flashed by Kurt’s expression as he realized his mistake. “Tell me what you told him! That’s an order!”

Kurt scoffed. “I don’t answer to_ you_, princeling.”

Something snapped inside Constantin. Just like Tristan before, he too launched himself at their teacher, screaming in anger and frustration, ready to scratch Kurt’s eyes out with his bare hands.

He fought without grace, but propelled by fury, fast and feral like a rabid dog. Kurt dodged the blows without making an effort to strike him back, and a few of them missed him just barely. Finally, Kurt moved behind Constantin and twisted his arm, making him fall to the ground.

“Stop this!”

“Tell me!” Constantin yelled, face in the dirt, but still full of fire.

“Stop. This!” Kurt put more pressure on his arm, but Constantin only barked the order one more time. The pressure increased again and even that bore no result. Constantin didn’t stop, not until his pleas turned into screams of pain. Even then, he didn’t want to relent.

Kurt let him go eventually, most likely for fear of actually doing real damage to him.

As Constantin scrambled to sit down, shaking, Kurt shook his head. He didn’t seem angry at him, oddly enough. His expression could almost be read as sympathetic.

“You won’t get any answers from me, so do us both a favor and give up.”

Exhaustion finally caught up to Constantin as Kurt’s words sank in. It was pointless, it all was. Like an ant trying to stop the flow of a mighty river. Without a word, not even looking at Kurt, he stood up and started walking back towards the palace. He noticed the gardeners staring at him, but he didn’t care. He looked like shit: messed up hair, grime on his face, crumpled clothes, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not even the pain in the arm he was cradling close to his chest.

He was tired and alone. So, so alone.

About an hour till the other class, he still had time to erase this incident and once again wear his proper mask of a blasé noble. Hopefully, Tristan wouldn’t learn about it, but that was doubtful with how much the servants liked to gossip. Whichever the case, Constantin would just go to his own bedroom uninterrupted and deal with everything on his own. Alone.

Maybe it was time to get used to the feeling.

* * *

Wandering the halls, mind only partially present, it was no surprise when Tristan turned the corner only to smack into what felt like a solid wall.

“Oof!”

He took a few steps back, blinking and refocusing his gaze only to find himself face to face with none other than Dominic Aubert. Tristan froze, briefly, before he took a breath and conjured up a polite smile on his face.

Dominic, on the other hand, looked somewhat mortified. “My apologies, my lord, every time we meet I seem to nearly injure you.”

“Accidents happen,” Tristan said, waving away his concern with well-practiced nonchalance even as he felt all his energy for conversation slowly seeping away. Dominic seemed like a nice man, but Tristan was in no mood to humor anyone with pleasantries today, _especially _not his betrothed-to-be. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“One moment,” Dominic said quickly, halting Tristan before he could walk around him to continue on his way, and Tristan noticed Dominic appeared somewhat nervous, glancing at him but not fully meeting his gaze. “Did your… did your uncle mention anything about the ball a few days away?”

He knew. Duke Aubert must’ve told him after all.

Tristan sighed with a weariness that permeated his very bones, it felt like. “I’m sorry, Dominic, but I really must be going.”

“Of course.” Dominic seemed hesitant to let him leave, eyes roaming over Tristan’s face now, but he stepped aside with a nod. “I’ve kept you from your engagements long enough, I’m sure.”

_Engagements._ Tristan gave Dominic a sharp look, wondering if he’d done that on purpose, but from the way Dominic’s ears were turning slightly red he had to assume it had been a slip-up.

“Right.” Tristan bowed formally. “My lord.”

He paced away, realizing he’d be late if he didn’t hurry, when the conversation of a few whispering servants caught his attention.

“His Highness went totally mad,” one of them murmured, holding onto their broom as they were huddled near the corner. “Screaming in the courtyard at his master-of-arms, it was quite the spectacle!”

Constantin? Tristan snapped at the servants to get back to work, before he hurried down the corridor with renewed vigor. What had happened? Was Constantin alright?

Was it Tristan’s fault?

Tristan was in such a rush to get to the study that he nearly missed Kurt standing near the barracks with a few other guards. “Kurt!”

Dismissing the guards and turning to face him, Kurt seemed to already know exactly what Tristan was about to ask him, a grim line in his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your little plan to keep your secret backfired pretty miserably, I must say.”

“What do you mean?” Tristan pressed urgently, consumed with worry. “What happened?”

“Constantin assumed the reason for your meltdown during practice was me.” Kurt leaned back against the wall, gaze drifting away from Tristan. “He lashed out at me, thinking I had done something to hurt you. Considering how much that boy loves you, I can’t blame him.”

Tristan nearly had the breath knocked out of him at Kurt’s words, clenching his jaw until his teeth hurt because he knew Kurt didn’t mean it the way Tristan _wanted_ it to.

“You really need to consider telling him, Green Blood,” Kurt advised him. “If this is how he’s acting now, how do you think he’ll react when he hears the news?”

“I know,” Tristan said, biting at his lower lip. “I know, Kurt, I just- I can’t—”

“You’re too scared to tell him.” Kurt gave him a piercing look and for one horrified moment Tristan thought he knew, thought he must’ve always known about the way Tristan truly felt about Constantin, but then Kurt sighed and said, “Do as you please. Just don’t come crying back to me when it goes wrong.”

Tristan nodded and decided to leave the conversation there, moving on toward the study. The need to go see Constantin before their lesson gnawed at him, but he didn’t trust himself not to make a mistake when they were both so emotionally vulnerable. He was still going to speak to Constantin about what happened with Kurt, but he thought it would be better to do it after their lesson.

Fate, however, had other plans. As Tristan took a left turn into the hallway where the study was located, he spotted a familiar back ahead of him, stopping him dead in his tracks. Sir de Courcillon wasn’t here yet, leaving them by themselves.

“Constantin?” he called out softly, taking a hesitant step toward him, but no more than that, waiting to see how Constantin was doing before anything else.

“Tristan!” Constantin turned around with a flourish, beaming brightly at him. “You came! I wasn’t sure you would. Did you have your injuries treated?”

Tristan was momentarily baffled at the way Constantin responded, appearing to be his usual buoyant self, and had he not known about the altercation with Kurt he might’ve even fallen for it. But seeing him like this now after hearing what happened in the courtyard only increased Tristan’s worry.

He approached Constantin unsurely, unable to find any cracks in his composure, but perhaps that was in and of itself a sign. Unless Constantin had truly calmed down and forgotten all about the incident, which Tristan thought was doubtful; Constantin had always been sensitive. He wouldn’t have moved past it so easily and especially not so quickly.

“I’m fine,” Tristan answered instead of asking the question he really wanted to, his eyes meanwhile still inspecting Constantin. “Most of it is bruising, nothing serious.”

He wished he could do something, _wanted _to do something, but was paralyzed by that unspoken fear rooted deep inside of him now, burrowed into his mind and bearing poisonous fruit that tainted his every thought. No, he couldn’t trust himself right now. It was best to—

To ignore it all? Tristan looked away from Constantin, frowning slightly. Kurt’s warning echoed through his mind, clashing with his desire to pretend everything was alright, but how far would that get him? What would happen when Constantin finally found out the truth about Tristan’s arranged marriage?

“Ah, there you are!”

Before he could think to say anything to Constantin about his fight with Kurt, Sir de Courcillon appeared from around the corner of the hallway, quickly walking toward them with the key to the study in hand.

“Sir de Courcillon,” Tristan greeted the professor, almost relieved for the excuse not to carry on the conversation.

“Good morning, my young students,” Sir de Courcillon replied as he walked past them to unlock the door, holding a few books underneath his other arm while he did so. “I do hope you remembered to do the reading I assigned to you last time, we’ll have quite a lot to discuss during this lesson.”

Matters of history, philosophy and politics. Tristan remembered all that he’d read, but doubted he’d be able to pay as much attention as he usually would’ve. His eyes wandered off to Constantin, lingering on his face for a moment until he caught his gaze and he quickly looked away, ushered into the study by Sir de Courcillon.

He resolved to talk to Constantin after the lesson, though he had no idea what he would say yet.

* * *

In silence, they took their places at their desks. The classroom was small, but well equipped with all the necessary furniture, an extensive library and the blackboard on which Sir de Courcillon wrote more difficult words or problems. For now, the teacher stood behind his lectern, put the books away, and began the lesson.

Constantin barely paid attention. History, geography, philosophy; these topics had always bored him terribly. Normally, during the class, it was Tristan who almost exclusively answered the questions and engaged in discussions with the teacher. Constantin usually only answered in monosyllables, praying that the lesson ended soon.

But today, it seemed that Tristan too had troubles keeping his focus. More than once Constantin noticed his wandering gaze as if there was something on his mind that weighed him down. Whatever Kurt had told him, it affected Tristan greatly. And it was breaking Constantin’s heart to see his cousin suffer. He wished there was something he could do, but he felt powerless. Perhaps he had to talk to him later, heading Kurt’s advice.

At that point exhaustion overcame Constantin. The sleepless night, boredom, and all the events of the day left him yearning for some downtime. His head drooped a few times, only to wake him with a start. Eventually, his forehead just thudded against his desk. He needed to rest his eyes, just for a few seconds…

His consciousness returned together with a sharp pain coming from his injured arm, the memento of his and Kurt’s dispute.

“Ow!” He sat up straight, eyes snapping open, his hand moving reflexively to rub his aching shoulder.

Sir de Courcillon stood by his desk, clearly surprised by his reaction. A short inspection had told Constantin that his teacher had poked his arm with a ruler to wake him up, not expecting how successful that would turn out to be.

Constantin needed to say something, or there would be questions.

“Seems not only my eyes but arm as well has fallen asleep,” he grumbled. “What a rude awakening,”

As expected, the look on Sir de Courcillon face became sterner.

“Constantin, please do take this seriously. It’s your education, and–”

“Oh no, by all means.” Constantin yawned, not bothering to muffle it as he ignored the sidelong look he could see Tristan give him from the corner of his eyes, a furrow of concern in his cousin’s brow. “Fascinating. Please do continue.”

Sir de Courcillon’s angelic patience was running thin, but this time he stopped himself from saying anything. Instead of scolding him further, he continued the lesson.

“As I was saying, my dear students, you will have thirty minutes now to write an essay, explaining the ideas of Montparnas regarding the self and its ontological status,” he went on to instruct. “If you have listened to the lecture, I’m sure you will have no problems with drawing the right conclusions.”

A clean sheet of paper was laid in front of him and Constantin almost laughed out loud. Montparnas who? He didn’t hear a word of the lecture. How did any of this even matter? This was pointless. He just needed to somehow pass these thirty minutes and then he’d be free, maybe after being chastised again. Nothing new.

Would be a shame if the paper went to waste, though. He picked up his pen and started doodling. At least he could practice something that was important to him. The scattered lines, so chaotic at first as he let his heart guide his hand, started to form a clear picture. A face.

Constantin gasped. Without meaning to he had made Tristan’s portrait.

“Constantin!” Sir de Courcillon’s disappointed tone sounded right next to him, as he came to check on their progress. Their teacher was one of the calmest people in the castle and yet somehow Constantin always found a way to ruffle his feathers. “Honestly, boy, what are you thinking? Antoine would have never–”

Sir de Courcillon stopped himself, realizing what he had said, but it was too late to take back the spoken words.

Constantin recoiled, as if the teacher had slapped him. With wide eyes, he stared at him, blood beginning to boil inside him.

Maybe he would have let it slide, if it had been any other day. Just ignore it, the way he tried to pay no mind to his parents’ words, to the whispers among the nobles, to the judgmental stares given by Antoine’s portraits all around the castle.

But today he was tired, far too tired to hold back anymore. So he let it explode.

“Antoine this, Antoine that,” Constantin began quietly, tone dark as his voice became louder and louder as he spoke. “I get it. I get it!” He stood up, shaking, hands balling into fists. “I’m not him! I’ll never be him! You won’t let me forget about it, I know! But guess what? He’s not coming back! He’s dead! DEAD! And you’re stuck with me!”

Sir de Courcillon wanted to say something, but Constantin stopped him with a raised hand. Once he let the words flow, he couldn’t stop until he was done. “I know I’m the inferior d’Orsay. I’m the consolation prize no one wanted. I’m not as smart, not as diligent, not as perfect as he was! And I’m sorry! I am! I’m sorry that I lived and he didn’t! If I could go back in time, I would have thrown myself on the sword that ended his life to save him!” Constantin was almost yelling now as his voice boomed through the room. “Then at least you’d all be happy, not having to deal with a worthless _princeling _that could never measure up to a _corpse_!”

His voice cracked on the shout, laced with bitterness. He hated it, hated the way his voice faltered, hated how pathetic he sounded. His shoulders deflated, an ache pounding in his head.

“So yes. I am sorry to be me. To be alive.” Constantin was on the verge of tears now that the anger had drained out of him, feeling defeated, as if something inside him had finally _broken_. “It was a mistake, I know. Thankfully, one that could be rectified quite easily.”

Without looking at his teacher or at Tristan—it would destroy Constantin to see his face now—he turned on his heel and ran out of the classroom, slamming the door behind himself.

In a state nearing frenzy, he rushed to his room, fast as if pursued by all the demons crawling up from hell. Banging the door again, he furiously dashed to his desk, flopping onto the chair and grabbing violently a loose sheet of paper. The pen slashed at the paper like daggers, the sharp lines forming the portrait of the one he hated the most.

Antoine.

Drawing him from memory, not from the pictures that hanged everywhere. He drew, he poured out his hate with a frenetic passion into every stroke, and when he was done, he grabbed the sheet, ready to tear it to pieces.

He stopped, for the first time actually seeing what he had drawn. Antoine was smiling. That kind, gentle and patient smile that always adorned his face when he was with Constantin, answering his questions or telling him stories that were full of marvels. Antoine the human, the brother, the caregiver.

Realization felt like a punch in the gut, shattering his heart. Constantin never hated Antoine. He only hated that he had left him here all alone to face this unkind world.

Constantin put the drawing back on the desk. A sob started deep in his throat and he let it out. He let it all out: his grief, his pain, his loneliness, his inadequacy, his worries, everything that had happened today.

Tears fell onto Antoine’s face, smudging the ink, slowly erasing him from existence yet again.

* * *

Tristan hadn’t known.

He’d had no idea how deeply rooted this had been for Constantin, that he’d felt this way the entire time. How could he not have seen it?

The self-hatred poured out of Constantin like a dam had just broken, flooding the air as Tristan sat there and watched, petrified in mute horror at all the things Constantin was saying about himself—that he was inferior, a mere consolation prize—and Tristan’s chest ached like a knife had been driven through it, twisting with every word Constantin spoke.

“So yes. I am sorry to be me. To be alive.” Constantin looked and sounded like he was teetering on the edge of despair. “It was a mistake, I know. Thankfully, one that could be rectified quite easily.”

Tristan’s blood went cold inside his veins, an icy fear seizing him when Constantin stormed away before he could say anything. He shot up out of his seat, glancing over at Sir de Courcillon who looked as equally shocked as he did concern.

“I didn’t mean—” His professor stopped himself, regret painted on his features as he sat down in his chair. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Tristan glanced at Constantin’s desk, a sharp pain shooting through him when he saw what had set all of this off.

It was a drawing of Tristan’s face.

_Oh, Constantin._

“I’ll make sure he’s alright,” Tristan promised Sir de Courcillon. He grabbed the drawing, folding it up and slipping it into his coat, before he headed after Constantin. He inhaled a shaky breath as he hurried through the corridor, eyes hot and vision starting to blur before he quickly blinked it away.

He’d failed his cousin in every way imaginable, it seemed.

Tristan’s heart was pounding as he ran through the hallways, surprising several servants and guests alike who had been wandering around, but Tristan didn’t even see them.

If something horrible should happen, if Constantin ended up hurting himself—or worse—Tristan didn’t know what he would do. He already felt like he was on the edge of losing his mind from worry.

Tristan hadn’t been there with Constantin when Antoine was killed, their family’s carriage ambushed on the road, but that night as he’d curled up into bed beside Constantin and he’d held his cousin’s trembling body in his arms, Tristan had sworn to himself he would never let anything happen to Constantin.

He didn’t intend to go back on that vow, no matter what.

When he arrived in front of Constantin’s room he did not slow a single step, needing to see that Constantin was alright, so he ripped the door open and stepped right into the room, breathing hard as he’d sprinted the entire way here.

The sight of Constantin at his desk—crying, but otherwise unarmed—was such sheer relief that Tristan let out a breath as his knees nearly gave out and he leaned back against the door, inadvertently closing it shut behind him as his back hit the wood.

“Constantin,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady in his throat as he felt tears prick his eyes again while Constantin blinked up at him, flustered at his sudden appearance. “I thought… I thought you’d—”

He could not even bear to speak the words, crossing the room to pull a startled Constantin out of his chair and gather him into his arms instead, holding onto him as if it would kill him to let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against Constantin’s neck, tears flowing over. “I’m _so sorry_, Constantin, I should’ve…” He choked on the words, fingers tangling in Constantin’s hair, holding him for one moment longer before he pulled back to cup Constantin’s face in his hands, looking at him just to make sure, make sure that he was here and unharmed and safe in Tristan’s arms.

“Tristan.” Constantin smiled weakly through the tears trailing down his face. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve made you worry again. It seems I can be nothing but a burden to you.”

“Don’t, don’t say that- I love you.” It fell from Tristan’s mouth before he could think to stop it, didn’t want to stop it as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Constantin’s cheek, let the kiss linger against his soft skin, knowing he could have nothing more but wanting it all the same. “I love you, Constantin, don’t ever forget that. I will always love you. That will _never _be a burden to me.”

The realization of what he’d just said, what he’d just done immediately filtered through his thoughts, slowly but steadily and his breaths—already labored from his running—came high and fast in his chest, body burning with a desire he knew he could never give in to_._

Constantin stared at him with wide eyes, a look of wonder and disbelief on his face that gave way to something else. As if mesmerized, he lifted his hand to touch the cheek Tristan had just kissed, dazed, but then something in his eyes changed. Resignation, almost.

Tristan stilled completely while Constantin reached out and touched his cheek in turn, fingers trailing up and tracing Tristan’s brow, caressing the skin while Tristan’s heart was a hummingbird inside his chest, beating so fast he could barely sense it.

“Constantin,” he whispered, not even knowing what he was asking for, why he was saying Constantin’s name. His thoughts were all chaos, tangled with his feelings in an impossible mess he didn’t know how to navigate, feeling lost and unmoored. “I…”

It was just like on the balcony, only the roles were reversed, and so Tristan waited. He waited for something to interrupt, something to get in between them, to wake him up from this dream that shouldn’t be, to crush the longing in his chest and remind him of the way things should be.

But this time, it was different.

Constantin’s eyes fluttered shut, tears falling down his cheeks, and he kissed Tristan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, trajektoria here. It's been a while, but I love this story too much not to at least try to finish it.   
Like the rest of this fic, this chapter is based on our RP with redwolves and I tried to interfere as little as I could in the original text. There's still A LOT of material to be used, so we're good for at least next 100k words lol.   
Hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> No beta, we die like men.

Tristan’s mind went blank at the gentlest touch of lips against his. All his senses were consumed by the kiss, by its tender touch and its warmth, by its love that left him reeling. When Constantin pulled back Tristan’s eyes were still open wide in shock, but then his thoughts crashed back into him.

Constantin kissed him. _Kissed him_.

Dazed, Tristan slowly lifted his fingers to his mouth, touching his own lips. It wasn’t a familial kiss, it couldn’t be, and yet Tristan simply could not comprehend it.

“Why—” Tristan’s hand grasped for Constantin, curling into the fabric of his shirt in a desperate grip as his breaths came heavy, almost frantic. “Why did you do that? We can’t– Constantin, we can’t.”

His voice was pained as he ached with the desire to abandon all his sense and give in, to kiss Constantin until he ran out of air, to push him back onto the bed and worship his body with his mouth. He shouldn’t, Tristan told himself, torn apart from the inside out between his heart and his head even as he reached up, tracing the soft skin of Constantin’s lower lip with the tip of his finger.

He was burning with a need that had him frayed until there was nothing but a thin thread of his self-control left, on the edge of snapping.

“Don’t make me want to,” Tristan whispered fearfully, knowing he should pull away but not having the strength to do it.

Constantin stood there before him, strangely calm, almost as if numb, as if he had no more tears to shed. But the lines on his face could be almost read as a relief. After years of suffering in a cage, he could finally break free, spread his wings and aim for the sun, even if the consequences would be dire. He didn’t seem to care.

“I love you,” Constantin said, returning his words to him, cheeks still wet from tears, eyes still reddened and yet his face was open and earnest, nothing but the truth flowing from his lips. He bared his heart and invited Tristan in. “I’ve always loved you, Tristan. Not like a cousin should. I love you like a man. I want to hold you, kiss you, take you to bed, kiss your temple as you’re falling asleep at my side.” He took a shaky breath, but his eyes didn’t leave Tristan’s. “I’m broken. More than you think. I feel like I’m drowning in my own dark, cold ocean almost every day, and it’s getting harder and harder to remain on the surface. I’m nothing but a disappointment, pale shadow of my dead brother. I can’t promise you much, but know this… whatever you say, whatever you do now… you will always have my heart. I will love you till my dying breath.” It seemed that you could always find a little more tears to shed. Constantin tried to blink them away, but they spilled over anyway, dripping onto the sleeve of Tristan’s shirt. “You’re my lighthouse, my lifeline, my brightest star, the only good thing in my life. You make me happy, you make my life bearable. How something so beautiful can be wrong? Condemn me if you must but please don’t ask me to stop loving you. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Constantin, I—” He could barely breathe, pressing his forehead against Constantin’s shoulder, clinging to his back. His entire world had been turned upside down, inside out and Tristan couldn’t find his footing. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I need time, I…”

A fist pounded against the door, making Tristan flinch in surprise as he looked up, glancing behind him at the door almost shaking in its frame from the force.

“Constantin!”

His uncle, sounding furious. Tristan tensed up, but then turned back to Constantin, who paled, overcome with fear, looking as if he couldn’t breathe. How much did his uncle know? Was this about the fight with Kurt? Or about the outburst during the classes? Or something else entirely?

“Stay here,” Tristan whispered, caressing Constantin’s cheekbone with his thumb to offer as much comfort as possible. “I’ll come back soon.”

Reluctantly he pulled away, heart still racing as he wiped the wetness off his face, taking a deep breath to compose himself before he headed for the door.

He opened it, slipping outside to the corridor, and closing it behind him before his uncle could force it open, facing Tristan with surprise.

“Tristan,” he said, glancing at the closed door. “I presume you’ve heard about the incident in the courtyard? Kurt is denying everything, but there were several witnesses among the servants. Thank heavens there weren’t any guests around to see it, though the rumors doubtlessly already reached their ears. To think any son of mine could disgrace himself to this extent—”

“Uncle,” Tristan interrupted him boldly, the prince’s brows arching in surprise as he was usually so polite, but with the turmoil inside of him he couldn’t bring himself to put on a polite act anymore. “I know about your arrangement with Duke Aubert.”

His uncle’s expression turned into a blank mask, his gaze sharp. “Do you, now?”

“Can we talk?” Tristan said, shielding Constantin in the only way he knew how. “Privately?”

“Very well.”

If he had to leverage this to protect the one he loved, then he would do so. Even if it killed him.

He led his uncle into a room not too far away from Constantin’s bedroom. A smaller parlor meant mostly for playing cards or reading, suited only for more intimate gatherings. Tristan closed the door behind them, trying to formulate what he was going to say when his uncle beat him to it.

“You understand, of course, the necessity of the marriage,” he said, cutting right to the chase now that there was no need to pretend anymore. “Duke Aubert was beginning to be a thorn in my side; he is bound to many families through the arranged marriages of his children, save for us. Rather than make an enemy of him, I’d much rather form an alliance.”

“Through my marriage,” Tristan said testily. “Did you not even think to consult me before deciding the course of my entire life for me? Do I not get a say in this?”

“No, you do not,” his uncle replied coldly. “This is your duty, not to mention the best possible match. You are a talented boy, Tristan. You remind me of Antoine, at your age. But you know as well as I do the rumors surrounding the circumstances of your birth.”

While his uncle’s voice faltered slightly at the mention of his eldest son, the rest of his tone was frigid, unbending. Tristan knew there would be no arguing with him, but after what had just happened between him and Constantin—

As if he’d read his mind, his uncle took a step toward him and grabbed his shoulder in what was meant to be a fatherly gesture but only felt oppressive to Tristan. “I know, Tristan. I know how you feel about Constantin, but you cannot let that sway you.”

Tristan froze completely, barely managing to keep his expression composed as his entire body tensed. “What do you mean?”

His uncle cocked his head slightly, almost amused. “You’re in love with him, are you not? And he is with you.”

It was a punch to the gut. His uncle knew?

“How—” Tristan could barely get the words out. “How did you—”

“Please, nephew, do not take me for a fool.” His uncle released his shoulder, shaking his head. “Your aunt and I, as well as your mother, have known for a long time. You may hide it well to outsiders, but I know my son well, and I know you; it was obvious for us to see, ever since you were children.”

Tristan didn’t understand. “Then… then you know what this would do to Constantin! Why would you still insist—?”

“For heaven’s sake, put these selfish notions aside, Tristan!” his uncle snapped, running out of patience. “You have a duty to your family! Do you think I married your aunt out of love? Do you think your mother married your father out of love? Love is irrelevant!”

His uncle breathed in deep, pinching the bridge of his nose while Tristan could only stare. “I’m not discussing this with you. Your engagement to Dominic will be announced during the ball, and that is final. Tell Constantin or don’t, I don’t care—once you’re engaged, I expect you to remain faithful to Dominic, is that understood?”

Tristan remained silent, until his uncle grabbed him by his shoulder once more, rougher this time as he leaned in with a hiss.

“Is that understood?”

Tristan averted his eyes, hands trembling by his sides. “Yes, my lord.”

* * *

It was done. Constantin had said everything he wanted. Tristan knew the whole truth about the love that should not be and it was up to him to decide what to do now. In his hands Tristan wielded the power to crush his heart forever or to turn him into the happiest man alive.

Now all he could do was wait for Tristan – the diplomat, the rational one, the one who always made plans and never just jumped into things headlong – to return, having faced Constantin’s enraged father. As always, Tristan was putting out fires that Constantin had kindled himself.

Once alone, Constantin felt his knees getting weak. He all but fell on his chair, hugging himself and stroking absent-mindedly his aching shoulder. His whole body was trembling. Not from cold but from his frayed nerves. So much had happened today, it was unbelievable. He could hardly fathom that he had told Tristan straight to his face that he loved him. It felt so absurd, almost like a dream. Sniffing, he wiped his cheeks the best could. His gaze rested on Antoine’s portrait, now barely recognizable due to dried tear stains. Constantin took it gently into his hands.

“I’m sorry, Antoine. I love you.” Today was the day of making peace with his feelings. Briefly, he pressed the portrait to his chest, and then hid it into his desk drawer. Now all he could do was to wait, while his nerves were showing him all the worst possible scenarios of what could unfold.

The tension was killing him. What were they doing there so long? Could his father actually hurt Tristan? Constantin knew what a power-hungry monster that man was, but the prince wouldn’t damage any valuable asset, he’d rather use it for his own gain.

Asset… How could you call people ‘assets’? The very thought was making bile rise in Constantin’s throat.

After far too long, the door to his bedroom opened again. Tristan entered in silence and closed the door behind him, but kept standing there, hand clutching the doorknob. He looked up, almost deathly pallor on his face.

Constantin’s heart sank. On trembling legs, he moved to his cousin, ready to catch or support him if he fell, so weak and sickly he looked.

“Your parents know,” Tristan said, broken. “My mother knows, Constantin. They know about us, and your father—” He trailed off, shaking his head, as if still in shock. 

Constantin could only stare, at a loss for words. They knew? How? It wasn’t possible! Tristan and him had only just spoken about their feelings! Or… were they that transparent? And blind not to have realized what was between them sooner? The implications were making his head spin. So at least he got his confirmation how Tristan really felt about him. Silver lining.

But it wasn’t the end yet, the worst was yet to come.

“And your father… He forbade us from being together.”

All air had been sucked out of Constantin’s lungs and a large block of ice formed inside his stomach.

“What? Why?” He started pacing in front of Tristan, making sweeping gestures with his hands. His nerves didn’t allow him to stand still, he was reaching a state of frenzy. “It’s because we’re cousins, isn’t it? It must be! Our families are already tied together, there’s no need for an alliance. No, no, he’s saving us for a bigger fish. A few years from now we’ll be sold like cattle to the abattoir. Oh, he’s evil, he’s vile, he’s a monster, he’s a…” A pained sob consumed his words. At once, he turned back to Tristan, taking his hand into his. His eyes were wide, pleading, two oceans of sadness and fear. “Let’s run away! Somewhere far! Somewhere where no one knows us! We can start over, be free! You can work as a scribe, you’re smart and resourceful! And I… I… I can sing at the street corners to get money. I’ll do anything! Please, Tristan, please! I-I can’t lose you, I can’t live without you!”

Oh, how pathetic, how desperate he must seem now to Tristan. Like a raving lunatic unable to face the reality in front of him, instead drowning into a beautiful fantasy that was doomed to fail from its inception.

Tristan stood there, infinitely sad, steeped in pity.

“Constantin,” Tristan said, his voice pained, as he placed his hand on the back of Constantin’s head, fingers tangling into his soft hair as he looked him in the eyes. “I can’t. You’re still his only heir, your father would hunt for us relentlessly. And I couldn’t– I can’t leave my mother. Who knows what your parents might do to her if I run away with you?”

Constantin never truly expected Tristan to agree to his plan. It wasn’t even a real plan, just feverish ramblings born out of despair. Now he felt ashamed for even proposing it, selfish as always. He didn’t spare even one thought to Tristan’s mother. Of course, they couldn’t leave, not while their recklessness could put her in danger. Tristan’s mother was dear to both of them, and more of a mother to Constantin than his own ever was.

“I’m sorry,” Constantin said. It felt so soothing to feel Tristan’s fingers in his hair, so nice, but he didn’t let himself enjoy the sensation, instead averting his eyes. “I didn’t think this through. I don’t want your mother to get hurt because of me.”

Tristan brought their foreheads together, holding him close. They breathed the same air, so close and yet so far at the same time.

“I’m not leaving you, Constantin. I’m right here.”

Constantin wrapped his arms around Tristan’s middle. He was grateful that Tristan had said these words. Yes, he could feel his cousin being here, right here with him, real and alive.

“I will never leave you either. Never.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad? Perhaps they had misunderstood what the prince wanted to say? What if they were forbidden from being together only officially, as in they couldn’t make an official engagement? No one was forcing them to be apart, to stop being friends. If they were discreet, they could keep this up for years, skillfully dodging other candidates. There was a chance for them to be happy yet. He had to believe in that or lose his mind.

“I need some rest.” Tristan sighed softly against Constantin’s lips. “Some time to think, to… process all of this. I’m starting to feel lightheaded. Maybe some sleep.”

Constantin agreed with a hum. He didn’t want to see Tristan go, but he couldn’t be selfish. They both had been through a lot today, emotionally and physically.

So he didn’t protest when Tristan pulled back. Much to his surprise, Tristan intertwined their fingers together as his gaze wandered over to the bed, not wanting to part.

“Will you join me?” he offered softly.

Constantin blinked, but his surprise quickly melted into relief. He had no other choice but to smile for the first time since Tristan returned to his room.

“Always. I’m yours.”

Quickly, Constantin took off his coat and booths, just like that other time, which seemed to be years ago. A lot had changed since that moment. He slipped into his bed and waited, anticipation mixing with longing.

Shrugging his outerwear off, Tristan slid onto the bed beside Constantin, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close like he’d done the day before, but this time he was fully awake and aware of their closeness. As soon as Tristan joined him, Constantin snuggled to him close, looking for warmth.

“I love you,” he repeated. He’d never get tired of it, wanting to let Tristan know in every moment how much he treasured him. “I’m so happy to have you in my life.”

“I love you too,” Tristan murmured in a tender reply, eyes fluttering shut and hand sliding down to rest on the dip in Constantin’s lower back, an intimacy they hadn’t dared to do before. He leaned in slightly, just enough for a gentle kiss to Constantin’s lips, returning the affection he’d been given before. “You are my heart, Constantin.”

Oh Tristan. He wanted to hear that for so long. Those magical words that made his heart sing inside his chest. He felt as if he could start crying again, this time from overwhelming happiness. He didn’t, but it came close. When was the last time he was that happy? Must be years ago, probably before Antoine’s death. For the first time in forever he actually felt optimistic about the future. They had each other now, so they could face the world. So what that Constantin’s father forbade them from being together? The fact that they were sharing a bed this very moment proved how little they cared about restrictions. True love could conquer everything, that was what all the stories said, wasn’t it?

Grinning, an idiot in love, he snuggled even closer to his precious lover, falling asleep within seconds, wrapped up in affection like in a cozy blanket.

* * *

By the time Tristan woke up again, the room was slightly colder and darker, the sun almost set, but he still felt a warm body pressed against his chest. He couldn’t remember his dreams as he slowly blinked open his eyes, but he thought they must have been happy ones because of how tranquil he felt in the moment.

Constantin’s back was turned to him and Tristan had an arm curled snugly around him, nose pressed into his hair. He still seemed fast asleep. Tristan smiled, pressing his lips to the back of Constantin’s neck in a soft gesture.

He was somewhat grateful he wasn’t fully pressed up against him, some distance between their hips; he hadn’t thought much about what the more… physical aspect of their new relationship meant, considering his inexperience.

Several hours seemed to have passed as evening neared, which was no surprise—they’d fallen asleep in the middle of the day, after all. Dinner would be served soon, but he doubted their uncle was expecting them to show their faces. Tristan figured he may as well get a servant to bring some food up to Constantin’s room; he had no intention of moving at the moment, though.

Tristan frowned mildly. So many things had happened in a short amount of time, so many horrible and wonderful things all at once.

They were in love with each other, Constantin loved him back—a fact that Tristan could still hardly believe as it felt like a dream, too good to be true, and yet it had happened. They’d had their first kiss, even if the circumstances that had brought the confessions about had been less than ideal.

But they were still cousins, a fact Tristan felt himself struggle with. Marrying your cousin was hardly unheard of, but it was never preferable to marrying outside of the family and forging new alliances. Small wonder his uncle was set against any relationship between them.

God, the engagement. A tendril of guilt wormed itself into Tristan’s chest, burrowing there like a cruel reminder. He was still lying to Constantin. Now that he had this, Tristan was too afraid to ruin it by telling him the truth. Was all of this between them to be temporary, then? Lasting only until the ball at the end of the week?

Tristan’s arm tightened around Constantin, burying his nose into his hair. He had to find a way. Engaged or not, he didn’t care—he was being forced into this, there was no way he was going to let Constantin go now that he had him. Could there be a way to break off the engagement, if not prevent it? He’d have to think. Talk to Dominic about it, too. Perhaps he could be an ally here after all.

He felt Constantin stir awake in his arms, smiling again before he could stop himself as he leaned up to press another kiss, this time to the side of Constantin’s neck.

“Rise and shine, my heart,” he spoke softly. “We should eat dinner before we sleep the whole night away.”

Constantin opened his eyes with a smile. Still looking a little groggy, he turned to lie on his back, his warm, limp hand reaching to cup Tristan’s cheek. That was the sight he wanted to wake up to every day, Constantin’s mellow golden eyes. The sunlight falling through the windows gave a beautiful glow to his blond hair and radiant skin, taking Tristian’s breath away. He’d never known it was possible to love someone this much, the warmth of it spreading through his whole body, and it felt as if he’d never be cold again so long as he had Constantin.

“Good… afternoon, I suppose,” Constantin mumbled, his voice hoarse from disuse. He sighed softly, stretching his long limbs. He no longer seemed to care about boundaries or closeness. He wanted the intimacy and Tristan didn’t mind it, didn’t mind at all. It was the first time they slept together – just slept – as lovers and yet it already felt so familiar and comfortable as if they were doing it for years now. In a way, they did, loving each other dearly their entire lives, just never having the courage to push the relationship further. Now there was no inhibition nor fear left between them. “Mhm… Let’s have the servants bring something here. I don’t want to leave the bed. I like the company here.” A little chuckle, a hand in Tristan’s hair and he was pulling him into a kiss… but missing his lips and ending up on his jaw. A cause to chuckle for the both of them. Tristan’s fingers gently gripped Constantin’s chin instead, and he leaned down for their lips to meet properly this time, but it wasn’t quite like their chaste kisses from before.

Tristan was hungry for just a little bit more as his mouth slotted perfectly against Constantin’s, lips melding together in slow, easy movements, making Tristan hum in pleasure. It was soft and unhurried and perfect, his body pressing lightly against Constantin’s beneath him and reveling in its warmth. This kiss brimmed with affection, fondness, devotion, but also held an undertone of desire. The slow mingling of tongues as their bodies reacted to one another, rediscovering each other, testing new impulses. He had to break away with a soft exhale, afraid he might not know how to stop if he went any further.

Constantin looked so beautiful, newly woken up and still sleep-dazed. How much time had they missed out on, stuck in denial when they could’ve been doing this the entire time, waking up to each other with casual love and affection?

“I’ll go get a servant,” he said, pulling away with reluctance and only because he knew he’d be right back in bed soon enough. The desire inside of him smoldered demandingly, but he managed to ignore it; despite the sleep he’d caught, he still felt tired, and he didn’t want to move too quickly. Kissing was about all that he’d done in the past; anything beyond that was unknown territory.

He slipped out of bed and left the room, praying that he wouldn’t stumble upon his uncle or Dominic. For a change, he wanted a moment of peace, uninterrupted by the hostile world. He wondered if there were gossips about him and Constantin circulating in the castle among the servants. If not, they surely would start if anyone had spotted Tristan leaving Constantin’s room completely disheveled. Thankfully, he found a servant further down the hallway and ordered them to fetch a meal for two. No complications. Perfect.

* * *

Tristan returned to the room quicker than Constantin anticipated, which brought him a lot of joy. Tristan belonged here with him, in bed, languidly entwining their limbs. He accepted him with opened arms.

“Is this what it’s going to be like with you?” Tristan teased, cuddling up to him again as he hooked an ankle around Constantin’s. “Spending all day in bed, lazing around?”

“Hm… I’m not hearing any complaints…” Constantin almost purred, safe and relaxed. “Unless, my dearest, you have other plans. Something to kill the time before the meal, perhaps?” A sudden idea appeared in his mind. A good one, he thought, one that made him smile. After all, wasn’t a picture the beginning of it all? “Would you mind if I drew you? Just like that. On my bed.”

Constantin watched Tristan intently, saw the recognition in his eyes. Surely, his mind must have moved to sir de Courcillon’s class as well, to the portrait Constantin had drawn. Was Tristan pondering where would they be now if that picture hadn’t been conjured up to existence in the first place? Constantin couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“You know how much I hate posing,” Tristan warned him, even as he relented. Constantin smiled, having no doubt that he would agree in the end. “But I suppose I can stay still, just this once.” At least lounging around on the bed was far more comfortable than standing, or sitting on a stool, or having to hold an object for an hour, so no argument there.

“Well, we can always introduce some improvements,” Constantin said with mischief, “like divest you of your shirt...”

Tristan arched his brows slightly at the suggestion of taking off his shirt. “Just my shirt?” he countered playfully, though he shifted to sit up on the bed, undoing his buttons and sliding the soft fabric off his shoulders, letting it drop to the ground beside the bed. He reclined onto his back again, tucking an arm beneath his pillow, legs stretched out comfortably over the mattress though he felt a little cold now that his chest and abdomen were bare. “Any other improvements you need to make, or will this suffice?” he asked, smiling lightly.

“Well, as much I’d like to see you in your entire glory, the maid will come soon. And I’d rather not give the poor girl a heart attack. But before we start, I’ll let you in on a secret…” Constantin leaned to Tristan’s ear, his hot breath fanning over the shell. “I don’t really need a model. I could draw you with my eyes closed. I just enjoy the sight!” Constantin laughed, carefree, and pecked his cousin’s cheek before jumping out of bed.

He was full of energy, running to the desk and whisking away one of his notebooks. At least a dozen of filled ones laid in his drawers, full of serious drawings and some practice doodles as he tried out new techniques or wanted to improve a particular skill. He never had an art tutor – his father had told him explicitly that it would be a waste of time and money – but he thought he did pretty well on his own, searching for knowledge in books or speaking with other artists. Now he was confident that if he so chose, and of course if he hadn’t been an heir to the throne, he would be able to make art professionally. Regardless, it was something he enjoyed. Bringing a little beauty into the world if he could offer nothing else.

Constantin sat on the chair, crossed his ankle on his knee, and found an empty page. With a pencil in his hand, he looked at Tristan. The keen eye of an artist fought with a tender gaze of a lover as he followed the lines of Tristan’s chest. He yearned to touch him but forced himself to focus on the task. The smile on his face soon morphed into something else, a deep, deep reverence. God, he loved Tristan so much. He loved everything about him. A hurricane raged inside his heart, so strong it was almost terrifying.

“You’re perfect.” The words came out breathless, but they rang true. Constantin swallowed and dropped his gaze to the page. This would be his masterpiece, he could tell.

For the next couple of minutes he said nothing, his brows furrowed in concentration. The pencil danced on paper, only stopping for brief seconds as Constantin looked up at the model, feasting his eyes.

Finally, Constantin let out a long sigh. He admired his finished work and smiled, chest swelling with pride. It was good, very good, he could feel it. A gift worthy of their love.

“Look!” Excitedly, he returned to the bed, showing Tristan the picture.

Naming it a simple sketch would be an understatement and a blatant lie. The picture was detailed, perfectly shadowed, a snapshot of the real world enchanted in black and white. And there was so much love in the lines that formed Tristan’s body, pure adoration. Every detail depicted and laced with affection. Even Tristan’s eyes felt so alive, full of intelligence and warm sparks.

Constantin waited for the verdict, not daring to even breathe. He fidgeted as Tristan poured over the picture. He knew it was good, but his own conviction would mean nothing if Tristan didn’t like it in the end.

However, Tristan seemed to lose his breath as well. In awe, he let his eyes slide across the page, hanging onto every detail, sheer admiration in every reverent glance. It was nothing like the stoic and solemn portraits hanging in the halls of the prince’s palace. It was simply a vision of how Constantin saw him.

“Constantin,” Tristan spoke softly, finally tearing his gaze away from the drawing to look at him. “This is absolutely stunning, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. I adore it.”

Heart nearly leapt out of Constantin’s chest at these words and Tristan’s kiss left him weak. He could melt on the spot, boneless and happy, forever connected with the man he loved. How was he able to live day by day without this? His whole previous existence felt so hollow.

Tristan leaned in, kissing his lips as not only a thank you but also just for the sake of kissing him, just because he could. And Constantin, feeling like the luckiest man alive, could drown in him, he thought, and would die happily at that.

A sudden knock on the door made both of them flinch and part as if caught red-handed. Constantin felt worried, but Tristan just let out a slightly annoyed sigh.

“Servant,” he said as a manner of an explanation and Constantin felt some dose of relief. Especially, since he was starting to feel a bit hungry. “I suppose I should put a shirt on,” he mumbled, having to unhook his fingers from Constantin’s shirt, though he stole a last quick kiss. “Will you get the door?”

“Of course.”

Unhurriedly, Constantin left the bed and moved to the door. Before he reached for the handle, he looked over his shoulder to check on Tristan. With some amusement he noticed that Tristan had put his shirt back on in an admittedly halfhearted manner, the top buttons left undone and revealing a long strip of his chest. At least he had the sense to get off of Constantin’s bed and stand nonchalantly near the windows as if they’d spent the past few hours chatting, completely innocent.

Constantin overcame the urge to smirk and he let the servants in. They looked mildly surprised to see Tristan here, but quickly trained their expressions into a mask of indifference, busy with doing their job to set the table for them. The unmade bed and his and Tristan’s tousled looks spoke a very transparent story. Even if nothing really happened aside from kissing, the appearance pointed to something more. Never mind that. No one could prove him and Tristan anything. In the eyes of strangers, they were just best friends. The possibility of the truth probably didn’t occur to the observers, or perhaps they were tactful enough not to give anything away.

Still, Constantin was glad to see the servants go. Especially, when Tristan took the opportunity to walk up behind him, circling his arms around him in a needy embrace. Oh, it felt so good. He relaxed, leaning against his lover. He was starved for touch and this position was satiating that hunger perfectly.

“I think there’s something wrong with me,” Tristan murmured against his ear, kissing the soft skin beneath. “I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”

Constantin wanted to respond with something playful or romantic but whatever idea he had had been nipped in the bud by a loud rumbling coming from Tristan’s stomach.

Tristan sighed, giving up. “…Dinner, then?”

Constantin laughed. “Let’s feast! I can’t let my man starve!”

They sat at the table, on opposite sides, but Constantin made sure that his long legs were touching Tristan’s. He didn’t want to lose the physical contact even for a little while.

The servants had brought bread and a vegetable stew. It smelled nice and as Constantin found out it tasted even better. For a while they just ate in companionable silence, in such a peaceful atmosphere they could easily forget about the rest of the world outside this bedroom. All that was important to was here; the needed nothing else.

When he nearly finished, Constantin spoke up, thoughts circling back to the piece of art he had produced.

“I’m really happy that you liked that picture. I… I’ve always liked to draw. It’s… important to me.” He didn’t really have to tell that to Tristan. Obviously, he knew, as they grew up together, watching him. doodle during class. “And you know what? Antoine couldn’t draw. Not one bit. Even his stick figures were wonky. I guess there’s one thing in which I’m better than he was.” His outburst during Mr. De Courcillon’s class ended up having a bunch of unexpected consequences. One of them was that Constantin had finally sorted out his feelings towards his dead brother. It was liberating not to hate him anymore. All it took was to remember that he was a person, not an idea of a person. “Well, and of course he never managed to find someone as amazing as you, Tristan. More points for me.”

Constantin was just a child when Antoine died, but he didn’t remember anyone significant in his brother’s life. No boyfriend, no girlfriend, no close friends… lots of acquaintances, but nothing meaningful. Always forced to learn, to help the father, sent out on missions, he barely had time to pursue what mattered to him most. Perhaps in a way Antoine was a victim too, just as he was, even if of a different crime. Sincerely, Constantin hoped that his brother had tasted love at least once before his passing. How sad and empty life was without love.

“Do you think… that he was happy?” he asked haltingly, looking at Tristan.

Perhaps it was unfair to ask Tristan such question. How could he know the answer, really? Antoine was older than them, always busy with becoming the prince, so he could never spend a lot of time with them. But Constantin needed to hear it, so he didn’t rush his lover, just waited for him to collect his thoughts.

Tristan reached out across the table, taking Constantin’s hand in his.

“I’m not sure. I hope he was, but… I know that he was happy to have you as his brother, Constantin.” He squeezed Constantin’s hand lightly, rubbing his thumb over the skin. “I’ve never told you this before, but your brother… he made me promise that I would look after you, and that I would be there for you when you needed someone to lean on. He truly cherished you.”

_He truly cherished you._

Constantin’s eyes filled with tears. He took a shaky breath and looked to the side, not allowing them to spill. Antoine truly loved him. Constantin hoped that he knew that he was loved back.

“Thank you, Tristan,” he said, rubbing at his eyes, not as discreetly as he had hoped. “For telling me. And for keeping your promise.” His smile was a little sad, but genuine. He squeezed Tristan’s hand, intertwining their fingers. A sign of unity and their unbreakable bond. It was giving him strength not to dwell in the darkness but to move forward in a direction of happiness. “Ah, let’s leave all the heartache behind us now! We’re young! We’re in love! We’re pissing off my father! The world is at our feet! Oh, Tristan, we’re at the beginning of a beautiful journey together!” Unable to contain a radiant smile, Constantin leaned over the table and placed a gallant kiss on his lover’s hand, the same a knight might leave on the skin of the dame of his heart. Always one for dramatic gestures, Constantin almost beamed with happiness. “It’s truly the first day of the rest of our lives.” The future was bright and exciting. And nothing and no one could destroy it as long as he had Tristan at his side. “Should we get back to bed? Are you tired, my love?”

“Yes,” Tristan admitted, untangling his fingers from Constantin’s and rising to his feet. The sun had long set by this point, a cold wind blowing against the windows. “I think I’d like to call it a day—or night, as it were.”

Constantin didn’t protest, hearing Tristan’s decision. After the meal, he felt a pleasant weariness in his body that made the prospect of lying snug under the covers in his bed very appealing. The same weariness, though, made him feel lazy enough not to stand up from the chair. Instead, with his chin resting on the palm of his hand, he observed his cousin.

Tristan glanced down at his clothes. Not the best choice for a bedwear. If they were going to have a proper sleep, he probably shouldn’t lie down with his trousers on.

Constantin’s curious and attentive gaze followed Tristan’s every movement. The slow – deliberately? – unbuttoning of his shirt, the fabric sliding to the floor, the removal of socks, and finally unbuckling his belt and removing his trousers. Constantin bit on his lower lip, watching the pants pooling around Tristan’s largely naked legs. Tristan had always been more physically capable than him and the prominent curves of his calves and thighs only seemed to confirm that. Constantin’s thoughts swerved sharply into a more suggestive direction, filling his head with images of kissing the inner side of his thigs or caressing his broad chest.

Tristan turned to him, giving him look that was strangely shy, even more obvious with how his cheeks flushed. Constantin could guess what things were on his mind now. Tristan finally averted his eyes.

“You wouldn’t… mind if I went to bed like this, would you?” he said hesitantly. “I could borrow a robe from you, otherwise.”

Constantin’s heart swelled in his chest. All lust evaporated, replaced by the irresistible urge to protect him and shower him with reassurance and affection.

“My love.” Constantin stood up and went to him, going straight for Tristan’s lips to give him a surprisingly innocent kiss as for the current circumstances. “I only want you to be comfortable. You can sleep in whatever you wish.”

With a smile, Constantin took a step back and started shedding his clothes as well, casual and without shame. He’d never been particularly prudish and he had stripped in front of people before, so it wasn’t an unnerving experience. In all previous cases, it had actually led to a very pleasurable outcome. He could feel Tristan’s keen eyes on him, which flattered him. His body wasn’t as beautifully honed as Tristian’s, but he had heard enough compliments to know his worth. Lean, slender, fit from training, graceful frame and long legs. And a face of an angel, with a mismatched personality.

“Tristan… Forgive me for asking, but…” He paused briefly to get rid of his trousers. Now he was in a similar state of undress as his cousin, both standing just a few feet apart. “You’ve never been with anyone, is that right? Intimately, I mean?” He was fairly sure that his cousin was a virgin, his body language – his cheeks burning even more fiercely – showed as much. But it was better to ask than to presume. To make it less awkward, he took Tristan’s hand, gently rubbing his knuckles. “It’s all right. We don’t have to do anything. Not until you feel that you’re ready.”

“I know,” Tristan replied quietly, the tension within him easing as he squeezed Constantin’s fingers back. “I feel safe with you.”

Constantin couldn’t describe the feeling that filled his heart when Tristan said these words. It was like an explosion of joy and pride, all rolled into one bundle of satisfaction. The greatest praise he had ever received.

Constantin let Tristan pull him by his hand. They both slipped underneath the covers, glad to find themselves again among the comfort and warmth. Tristan wrapped his arms around him as they settled. The skin-on-skin contact felt so wonderfully soothing. Tristan closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure, running his hand up Constantin’s back. Touching Tristan’s almost naked skin with his own almost made him giddy. Such a wonderful sensation. He was looking forward to truly become one with him. Sex was an extremely satisfying experience, but how would it feel when actually done with someone you loved? It was even hard to imagine. But he wouldn’t pressure Tristan into anything, of course. He wouldn’t accept anything but an enthusiastic “yes!” from him before they started getting physically intimate, making sure that every step was consensual and felt good for them both.

Good night, my beloved heart,” Tristan murmured, already on the verge of sleep, as he pressed a kiss to Constantin’s forehead, a gentle smile lingering on his lips.

For now, he was happy to reciprocate Tristan’s sleepy affection.

“Good night, my love.” Arms wrapped around Tristan to keep him safe, Constantin fell into peaceful sleep uninterrupted by any nightmares.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I still managed to post it in July. I'll do my best to post at least one chapter a month. Hope you'll like it!

Tristan’s dreams were pleasant, mostly forgotten as soon as they passed through his mind, but as he neared his awakening something shifted in the images of sunlight glowing off blond hair, the warmth evolving into heat.

He couldn’t say what it was about, only that it had pleasure tensing up his spine, a subtle roll of his hips into the mattress and a moan smothered into the pillow when the dream faded almost suddenly, leaving him dazed as he slowly came to his senses.

It was morning, he realized sleepily as he felt the sun on his skin, almost turning over onto his back and slipping a hand into his shorts to finish what his dream started when he remembered that he wasn’t in his own room.

Blinking his eyes open, flustered, he was greeted with the sight of Constantin.

“Mmm… morning,” he mumbled, voice rough in his throat as his eyes roamed Constantin’s face, trying to engrave the image of him in the morning into his mind as a keepsake before he inched forward on the pillow, pressing a soft and short kiss to his lips. It was the best way to wake up, he decided as he reflexively reached underneath the covers to place his hand on Constantin’s hip, too sleepy to feel as embarrassed as he usually might have been about the current state of affairs down below.

“Morning,” Constantin replied, far more awake, amusement evident in the lively glint in his eyes.

Lustful dreams aside Tristan actually felt a little groggy from having slept so much yesterday; he may have overdone it with going to bed so early in the evening. Gradually feeling his more carnal needs subside, Tristan redirected his thoughts to more relevant matters.

“What… time is it?” he asked, barely suppressing a yawn with the back of his hand on his mouth.

“It’s still early. Around six.” Constantin either didn’t sleep at all or had to be dragged bodily out of bed at midday. A man of contradictions, never content to remain in the middle, always sticking out from the crowd.

Tristan glanced toward the windows when Constantin mentioned the time, noting that the sun—while up—was indeed still quite low to the horizon. He hadn’t slept as much as he’d thought, then, and six in the morning seemed as good a time as any to get out of bed.

“Think Kurt’s still expecting us for class, after yesterday?”

Tristan watched how a smile faded from Constantin’s face. “I can’t avoid him forever. The sooner I apologize to him, the better.” He sighed, hand running through his flaxen hair. “And I should apologize to Mr. de Courcillon as well. I managed to piss both of my teachers off on the same day. Must be a record.”

He squeezed Constantin’s hip gently at the mention of the apologies, reminded of the less than positive incidents of yesterday though they had still led to a most wonderful outcome. That seemed to be exactly what Constantin needed.

“Ah, let’s not think about classes now!” Invigorated, Constantin rolled over and climbed on top of his lover, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, as his face hovered just inches above Tristan’s. “How about we go out later in the evening, to the city?” Constantin proposed mischievously as Tristan’s slightly wide-eyed stare was fixated on his lips, only half-hearing the rest. “To the tavern maybe? And watch the sunset in the port? Let’s do something fun! I hate being cooped up in the castle. Especially with so many nobles around. Ugh, I can’t wait for that ball to come and go, so that we can get back to living peacefully.”

The kiss that followed was downright cruel. The lazy slides of their tongues, the warmth of two bodies hotter than a furnace. Tristan did his utmost not to move his hips, hands settling on Constantin’s waist and digging lightly into the skin as the lips moving against his made his blood run hot—being under the covers, it was almost suffocating in the best way possible.

Before he could stop himself, one of his hands slid down to rest on the dip in Constantin’s lower back, fingers just barely touching the edge of his undergarments. He could spend hours doing nothing but that, simply drowning in love and affection.

The thought drew a soft noise from his throat, almost a hum as he dared a taste of Constantin’s mouth with his tongue and he almost felt overwhelmed; he’d never shared kisses like this before, making the rest of the world completely fade away as if they were the only ones alive.

When his lips felt kiss-bruised Tristan finally somehow managed to break away with a deep inhale of breath, stopping himself both out of a need for air as well as uncertainty of where this might lead.

“We should…” His voice was slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat to try again, peering up at Constantin with some reluctance. “We should probably… get out of bed.”

It’s not as if he wanted to stop, only that he didn’t yet know what he wanted if they continued, and the thought made him slightly nervous.

“I love you so much,” Constantin said seemingly out of the blue. More light kissed followed, on Tristan’s cheeks and forehead, and he nuzzled against his neck as well. Constantin behaved like an overexcited puppy, happy, euphoric even. Such a new amazing sensation, Tristan wanted to revel in it, even more so that outside of the confines of this room, they’d have to restrain themselves, pretend once again that there was nothing between them but friendship.

Tristan remained underneath the covers as Constantin jumped out of bed and opened the window. The gust of wind that crept inside was a bit crisp but the weather should get warmer soon. A pleasant day for a training overall. Still, Tristan wanted to linger in the pleasant warmth for just a moment longer before he too slipped out of bed with a heavy sigh.

“I suppose you’d like now to freshen up a bit and put on new clothes, yes?” Constantin suggested, and Tristan had to admit he could use a change of attire. “How about we meet in the kitchen in half an hour? We’ll quickly eat something and then we’ll head for the training grounds, hm?”

Eating in the kitchen had a benefit of avoiding the rest of the nobles, including Constantin’s father. Neither of them wanted to meet the prince after yesterday.

“Alright,” Tristan agreed as he gathered his shirt off the ground where he’d carelessly left it last night and put it back on, followed by his trousers and the rest of his outerwear. He couldn’t exactly walk through the halls nearly naked.

Tristian moved over to Constantin, resting his hand on his waist and leaning in for a tender parting kiss; even though they wouldn’t stay away for long, Tristan still wasn’t looking forward to it.

If possible he’d stay glued to Constantin’s side throughout the entire day.

“See you soon,” Tristan murmured against Constantin’s lips, pressing another brief peck to them before he finally pulled away and left the bedroom.

He hadn’t even bothered looking into the mirror before he headed out, but figured he didn’t need to look to know his curls were a wild mess atop his head. Not wanting to be seen this disheveled, Tristan quickly hurried through the hallway to his own bedroom, somehow managing to dodge most servants along the way. Most of them were probably busy preparing for breakfast.

Stepping back into his room, Tristan was relieved to get his clothes off to freshen himself up with a wet cloth and fix his hair, thinking he should like to take a bath after classes to get properly clean. He slipped on new clothes, trading in the green colors for dark blue hues on his coat and tasteful, tight white pants with high, dark brown boots—he chose the garments with more deliberation than he usually would’ve, but he wanted to look nice for Constantin.

By the time he was done half an hour had passed, and Tristan left his bedroom to go down to the kitchen again, a pep in his step as he smiled at the day that awaited him and Constantin.

* * *

Constantin watched Tristan leave, reminding himself that soon enough they’d be at each other’s sides again, just as they should be. The brief separation didn’t dampen his spirits. He was bursting with energy and unable to contain himself from happiness. Like a whirlwind, he moved across his room, getting ready in record time. Reluctantly, he washed himself, almost regretful that he’d be getting himself rid of Tristan’s scent from his body. If everything went well, he’d be surrounded by it soon enough again, so that was reassuring.

For the outfit, he settled on tight, black pants and a light shirt that matched the color of his eyes. A moment spent in front of the mirror made him realize that he actually liked his reflection today. Healthy hue on his cheeks, no shadows under his eyes, lips curved in a smile. Yes, that was a good look. Hopefully, Tristan would like it too.

When he came to the kitchen, Tristan wasn’t there yet, but he didn’t worry. Greeting the servants, he took his place at the table. Danielle was there too, so he chatted with her for a while, learning that she came from the countryside, and had five brothers and three sisters. Imagining so many children in one hut took some effort. But in her stories the family seemed happy, even if poor like dirt. Money and happiness didn’t often come hand in hand, he supposed.

After a while Tristan joined him at the table. With appreciation, Constantin regarded his cousin’s new outfit that flattered his figure. How would he be able to concentrate on training with Tristan looking that good? Impossible! Not being able to kiss him felt like a torture as well, but the smile he had given him was telling enough that his desires were reciprocated.

The breakfast passed in an atmosphere of cheerful camaraderie, with them talking and laughing about things big and small. Constantin blabbed on, carefree and relaxed, not thinking about the future. But as they finished the meal and left for the training grounds, he started feeling rather anxious. He worried about Kurt’s reaction. Things got pretty ugly yesterday. And since Constantin’s father knew about this whole situation, he surely must have spoken with Kurt too, maybe wrongly scolding him as well.

Seeing Kurt from afar, Constantin took a deep breath.

“Okay… It can’t be that bad, can it?” He smiled nervously at Tristan, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly to anchor himself. Tristan put his hand over Constantin’s, squeezing it in a show of support. No matter what, he knew he could count on Tristan’s. That truly meant a lot.

Constantin approached Kurt like a timid animal, ready to scuttle off at any sign of danger.

“Kurt, I…” Kurt just stared at him with a perfectly blank expression and arms crossed on his chest. He wouldn’t make this easier for him, huh. Well then. “I want to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday and for the subsequent problems I have caused you. It was unbecoming of an heir to the throne. I’m sorry.” He matched the formal speech with the equally formal royal bow. But when he straightened his back again, a little smile was once again playing on his lips. “It was just ah… a misunderstanding. It has been resolved already and brought to a happy ending.” With the look he gave Tristan, he might have as well shouted from the rooftops that he loved him. He couldn’t have been more obvious if tiny hearts were floating around his head. Tristan’s face flushed up to his neck.

“Right.” Kurt wasn’t blind, but his face remained stony. Not a trace of surprise there. “No harm done—which was a little disappointing, actually. Thought I’d trained you better than that. You’re going to have to make up for it today.”

Finding out that Kurt wasn’t upset by the whole incident was a huge relief. Constantin quite liked him and his brutal honesty, so refreshing after spending so much time among conniving nobles who smiled at you and then plotted behind your back. The man had never been affectionate but Constantin sensed that he cared about them in his own way. And somehow he had seen right through their emotions. A keen eye of a warrior.

“Of course, I’ll do my best, sir!” he promised, saluting him with mock solemnity but true eagerness.

The training started with rapiers and this time it went far better than the last. Constantin had a lot of energy and he actually was having fun, dodging the blows with more finesse than needed, showing off his skill and his lithe body for Tristan’s sake, understanding the impact that his charm had on his lover.

“Pay attention to your footwork!” Kurt barked to Tristan, noting his lack of focus.

But charm was a double-edged weapon. Constantin wasn’t immune to Tristan’s body as well, catching himself off guard several times as he got lost in observing how the muscles strained underneath his lover’s warm skin.

Sure enough Tristan took advantage of his lack of focus by grabbing his wrist and yanking him forward. Before Constantin realized what was happening, he found himself falling forward, stopping against Tristan’s chest. He quite liked that development. Having his lover’s hot body so close to his own was deeply erotic, even in the current circumstances far from his bedroom. The sexual tension was sizzling in the air. Before Constantin pulled away, he let his lips brush against Tristan’s cheek. For anyone who might have observed them it would look like an accident, like nothing of significance. But Tristan would know what it really meant.

“That’s… one way to end a fight,” Kurt muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, get rid of the bloody swords—let’s see some hand-to-hand.”

As per Kurt’s order, they ditched the swords. Constantin assumed the fighting stance. He never liked hand to hand combat. It lacked any elegance and Tristan was so much better than him at it, which usually ended the fight quickly and with Constantin getting new bruises on his bottom and his ego. But today he was motivated. And he had a plan.

He attacked first, launching himself at Tristan, using the element of surprise. Speed and agility were his biggest assets, so instead of attacking, he simply didn’t let himself get hit when Tristan responded with punches. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to outfox him and prompt him to lose his balance. All it took was a skillful throw and Tristan was falling onto the ground… with Constantin landing right on top of him. Sitting on Tristan’s thighs, holding his lover’s arms captive above his head, Constantin leaned forward, hovering right above Tristan’s face.

“Hm… Guess I’m on top today.” He gave Tristan a shameless, teasing wink, fairly sure that he heard Kurt groaning. Tristan bit into his lower lip, as if desperate to stop himself from saying something indiscreet.

“Alright, get up, we’re not done yet!” Kurt yelled, clearly starting to have enough of these shenanigans.

But they weren’t done yet, far from it. Neither of them seemed to be able to keep their hands off the other, always finding some way to end the fight in compromising or otherwise far too physical positions.

Constantin didn’t remember the last time he enjoyed a class as much as he did now. The fighting gave them plenty of opportunities to touch, caress and tease, sometimes toeing the line of propriety with reckless abandon. Physical contact made Constantin’s skin burn with desire. It was bad, really bad. Instead of concentrating on the scuffle, his thoughts meandered to a different type of activities. He dreamed about returning with Tristan to his bedroom, tearing his clothes off and pushing him onto the bed. To see him writhe beneath him, claw at the sheets, tilt his head back in pleasure… Mhm, yes. All of that and more.

Tristan seemed to be suffering from a similar affliction as trapped him between a stone pillar and his own hot body, pinning Constantin face-first against one of the pillars in the courtyard, Tristan’s chest against Constantin’s back.

“Now who’s on top?” he whispered right into Constantin’s ear, who barely stopped himself from letting out a needy moan. Fuck. He would sell his soul for Tristan’s hand to travel down to his groin and bring him a release from this sweet suffering.

The idea of having to sit through Mr. de Courcillon’s class after this was sheer torture as they would be stuck having to behave properly in the study; they wouldn’t be able to act so liberally around the professor, after all.

“I’ve had enough of you two,” Kurt decided with an exasperated sigh, finishing up the class. As a soldier, he knew how to pick his battles. He couldn’t win today against a thinly veiled courtship. “Get out of here, go torment your professor.”

They had about an hour to make themselves presentable and attend Mr. de Courcillon’s class. Constantin knew he’d have to be on his best behavior to apologize and make up for yesterday, but it didn’t make thinking about the oncoming boredom any easier. Especially, since his thoughts were still reeling with desire, any rationality severely clouded.

His eyes blown, his skin flushed, chewing on his lip, he looked at Tristan, making an attempt to get himself together. With woefully little successful. He felt slightly guilty about all this. Knowing that Tristan didn’t have any previous experience in carnal matters, he should have been the better man and tone down the teasing. It was impossible, though, absolutely undoable with how being around Tristan affected him. Still, he didn’t want to be too forward or to make him uncomfortable. Anything sexual between them should be initiated by Tristan, not by him. They had to move at his pace.

“I think I’d like to take a bath before the class…” he trailed off, leaving the invitation open but not explicit. It was up to Tristan whether he wanted to take it or not. And if yes, where it would ultimately lead.

* * *

“I think I’d like to take a bath before the class…” Constantin’s cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated in his bright eyes and almost making them appear black as he made his offer and Tristan swallowed thickly, felt his body run hot again as if he were still in the middle of his exercise.

They had an hour to themselves, and Tristan had intended to take a bath anyway, but the thought of taking a bath with Constantin… he wanted to. He wasn’t sure what would happen, which made his heart flutter in excitement and nervousness both, but he couldn’t find a reason to refuse, not when he wanted it this badly. Even if nothing sexual happened in the end, another barrier would be shattered between them, another threshold of intimacy crossed together.

Tristan hadn’t seen Constantin naked since they were kids. It wasn’t a big deal back then, of course, both of them spending the time on splashing happily in the bathtub that seemed enormous. A lot had changed since that time. For starters, it would be a tight fit for them both to share a tub now. Intimacy was unavoidable.

“Alright,” he finally answered, voice feeling a little rough in his throat and taking a breath before he added quietly, “My room is closer.”

As he passed by Constantin, leading the way to his bedroom, his fingers brushed over Constantin’s waist, a feather-light touch through the fabric of his shirt as Tristan resisted grabbing a fistful of it and hauling Constantin close to kiss the daylights out of him. He didn’t know if he was in the state of mind to initiate anything past kissing, but the desire to touch Constantin welled up inside of him like a flame being fed, pulse pounding as he headed up the stairs.

It was hard to keep a straight face when he found a servant in an otherwise empty corridor and instructed them to get them a bath ready, knowing they’d have to wait for the servants to carry one in and fill it up with hot water first.

“At once, Your Excellency,” the servant replied, giving him a quick bow and hurrying off, leaving him alone with Constantin in front of his bedroom door.

The silence was killing him almost as badly as the desire to touch Constantin, but as the servants would return at any moment Tristan managed to restrain himself. Barely.

All they had to do now was wait. No one said it would be easy. Tristan itched to touch his cousin and to make him his in every way imaginable. For now, he contented himself with taking the hand Constantin offered as he pulled him inside the room, closing the door after them. The servant would be back soon, but they still could steal a few moments for themselves before that happened.

Tristan’s skin erupted in goosebumps at the mere passing touch of Constantin’s hand through the fabric of his shirt. His breath quickened. It took all his willpower not to grab Constantin’s shoulder, turn him around and kiss him until they both collapsed from exhaustion. The desire was strong, like a volcano that smoldered as it readied itself to erupt and consume everything.

Constantin had no fancy to show restraint. He didn’t waste time before he kissed Tristan hard, desperate and frantic. He cupped his cheeks and claimed his lips in a kiss that made Tristan’s head spin, dizzying in its intensity and making him feel intoxicated when Constantin pulled away again.

“We’re such fools, Tristan,” he said, tearing himself away from him with utmost difficulty. “Imagine. If we had only been braver with our feelings, we could have had this for years now! Years! There’s so much time we have lost that we need to make up for. And I plan to remind you every day how dear you are to me.” That was a promise, sealed with another kiss, this time more affectionate than passionate.

"And I plan to remind you every day how dear you are to me.”

Tristan smiled against Constantin’s lips as his lover—and they truly were lovers now, weren’t they?—kissed him once more, tender and softer compared to before. Tristan curved his fingers around the back of Constantin’s neck, stretching out the kiss as long as he could while he reveled in the feeling of Constantin’s lips, slightly breathless when he broke away and just in time as well.

The servants knocked on his door then, and Tristan took a moment to compose himself before he let them in.

Two of them carried the portable tub inside, setting it in front of the fireplace while two others carried buckets of hot water to start filling it.

Tristan kept his expression smooth as he specified that they shouldn’t fill it too much, which confused them a little. With an extra person in the tub the water would overflow quite easily, after all, not that they needed to know that. It took the servants going back and forth two more times before the tub was ready, and after supplying them with a selection of scented soaps and towels they left.

The sound of the door finally closing to leave him and Constantin by themselves suddenly sounded very loud inside the room, especially considering the silence.

Wandering over to the tub, Tristan let his fingers drift through the hot water as his anticipation balled up into pleasant nerves inside his stomach. He took a steadying breath, then turned around to face Constantin as he leaned back against the edge of the tub, cheeks reddened and voice subdued, but his desire darkened in his eyes as he gazed at Constantin and reached out his hand to him.

“Help me undress?” he asked quietly, only his shirt and trousers on as he’d taken off his outerwear while the servants were filling the tub.

Tristan knew exactly what kind of request he was making—his body was getting heated just at the thought of it—but he figured the best way to get rid of the butterflies in his stomach was to get used to being touched by Constantin, though in truth he doubted he would ever truly get used to it. He just wanted it, and that was good enough of a reason for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit Sexual Content, enjoy! :3  
Thanks for all the comments and kudos <3

With the servants gone, Constantin and Tristan found themselves all alone in the room. Whether it was because of the heat coming from the bath or was it the tension in the air, Constantin didn’t know, but he felt his hands getting clammy. He wasn’t nervous, not exactly. But the moment was pivotal. Something was about to change between them, for better or for worse. The darkened look in Tristan’s eyes nearly took his breath away.

“Help me undress?” Tristan asked, voice barely above a whisper, and Constantin’s chest filled with butterflies. He could see that Tristan truly wanted that, that his body longed for Constantin’s touch. It took all his quickly depleting stores of patience not to rush to Tristan. No, they had to do this right. They were building memories here for years to come. Constantin wanted them to be pleasant ones, not marred with anxiety or doubt.

Deliberately, like a predator on a prowl, he approached his cousin. But he didn’t pounce on him. No, his gestures were slow and soothing, as he took Tristan’s hand and made him turn around. Constantin hugged him from behind, Tristan’s back pressed to his chest, and nuzzled against his neck. He still remembered how safe he had felt when Tristan did that to him earlier that day. He wanted to reciprocate that feeling, to envelope him with love like with a blanket. And, of course, the lack of eye contact made it less stressful for Tristan as he was getting naked before a lover for the first time.

Constantin kissed the hinge of Tristan’s jaw, as his warm hands roamed across Tristan’s clothed chest, sensing his rapid heartbeat. Only when he felt his cousin’s muscle relax, become malleable in his arms after these gentle ministrations, he dared to slip his hands underneath the shirt. He stroked the smooth skin, whispering into Tristan’s ear how beautiful he was, and retreated only for a second, just enough to pull the shirt over Tristan’s head, tossing it casually onto the floor. Back to kissing and caressing, he moved to work on Tristan’s pants. That would be trickier. The last thing he wanted was to breach his lover’s trust or to spook him. His movements were very careful, avoiding the most sensitive areas. He touched Tristan’s hips and thighs, but didn’t let his strokes reach anywhere further. After a while, the trousers were on the floor, pooling around Tristan’s ankles. Tristan leaned his head back against his shoulder, letting out a hot breath.

The last piece of garment left was Tristan’s underwear. Constantin splayed his hands on Tristan’s stomach, his pinky fingers slipping ever so slightly underneath the fabric. He could feel there the beginning of a trail of hair leading down.

“Do you want me to continue or would you rather take it off yourself?” he asked, voice slightly lower and colored with desire, but still in control. He kissed Tristan’s neck. Constantin’s lips, teeth, and tongue left a mark on his skin. Now everyone would be able to tell that someone had claimed him. And only the two of them would know who. “Do you want me to touch you?” Came another breathless question as he barely stopped himself from grinding against him. That moment was about Tristan and Tristan alone, he couldn’t forget that.

Constantin’s touch was working. Slowly, Tristan seemed to be opening for him like a flower, coaxed gently out of his shell of uncertainty. The heat that emanated from his body was intoxicating. Stopping himself from pushing on was the hardest thing Constantin had ever done. But he didn’t have to hold back for long.

Tristan bit at his lower lip, glancing down to where Constantin’s hand rested on his belly, right above the edge of his underwear, fingers inching underneath. Constantin could see how tented the fabric was, betraying Tristan’s arousal, but he said nothing. Just waiting and ignoring his burning desire.

“Not yet,” Tristan said, his voice strained, as he grabbed the hem of his undergarments and slid them down on his own, tugging them to his thighs and letting out a soft sigh. From his vantage point, Constantin could see Tristan’s erection, swollen and deliciously dark with pulsing vein that simply begged to be worshipped with a tongue. Before that thought disappeared from his mind or could be turned into action, Tristan pulled away.

Slowly, Tristan took Constantin’s hand off his stomach and turned around to face him, body flushed from head to toe. All in his beautiful, naked glory. He was the most handsome man Constantin had ever seen. No picture could ever do him justice. Tristan leaned in, pressing up against Constantin. They bodies fit so well together, the pressure and heat between them almost maddening. Even through the barrier of his clothes, Constantin felt the heat, the hardness, the smoothness of Tristan’s frame.

“We’re both taking a bath, remember?” Tristan said, voice husky against Constantin’s lips. Tristan didn’t possess the restraint that Constantin had when undressing him as he crushed their mouths together in a searing kiss. He yanked the buttons of Constantin’s shirt open, almost tearing one of them off.

Hands, eager and greedy, rubbed up Constantin’s lean chest and his smooth skin, down again to his abdomen as his fingers undid the belt, pulling at it in rough motions while he kissed Constantin with lips and tongue, as if he needed it to breathe. The force of Tristan’s kisses and the tugs on his clothes couldn’t have expressed better the mutual desire smoldering underneath their skins.

He broke the kiss only to speak as he unbuttoned Constantin’s trousers, pausing briefly. “I want—” He sucked in some air, trying to pace his frantic desire as he slid his hand down to Constantin’s groin, palming the shape of him through his trousers as his own erection twitched with need. “I want to touch you,” he whispered, “and I want you to touch me.”

In a frenzy, Tristan tore off his shirt and trousers. Constantin gasped, his eyes burning with lust, as Tristan’s hand cupped his groin and voiced what he craved. What they both craved. All thoughts disappeared from Constantin’s mind, replaced with a heavy mist of primal need. Without hesitation or pausing, he kissed him, yearning for his tongue, for his fingers on him, all the while clumsily getting himself rid of the last piece of garment that separated them. Now, at last, they were both free, a complete skin on skin, as he guided his cousin towards the bed, not letting him go from his arms.

They fell onto the soft mattress, Constantin on top of Tristan, both bodies locked in a sensuous dance without a care in the world except for each other. Kisses, caresses, desperate or lascivious gasps were traded freely and with eagerness. Tristan seemed like he couldn’t stop kissing Constantin, his lust and hunger urging him on to caress every inch of Constantin’s skin he could reach with his hands, like he was starved for it and maybe in a way he was. But they both wanted more, the heights of pleasure that only a treasured lover could bring.

Constantin made them roll to the side. He draped his thigh on Tristan’s hip, bringing them impossibly close, their entire lengths pressed against one another. What a blissful, sinful feeling. Tristan’s hands roamed the curve of Constantin’s back, lips and tongue wet and hot against his, the friction between them making him breathless with a heady desire for more, a need to press closer somehow. Rolling his hips with extasy, Constantin reached out blindly between their bodies and coiled his fingers around Tristan’s shaft. With confidence and skill gained by practice, he twisted his wrist, pumping him with growing impetuousness, while his lips sought out Tristan’s wet mouth once again. Neither of them would last long now, not when Tristan’s hips rolled up, rutting into Constantin’s fingers.

“Ah, Tristan…” His moan was obscene, full of need and begging. Tristan wrapped one arm around Constantin to grab at his ass and pull him even closer while his other hand wrapped around Constantin’s cock in turn, grip tight and motions fast as he could tell they were both getting close.

The reality seemed to be slipping from him, clashing with a beautiful, delirious dream. Throbbing pleasure built in his gut, only growing stronger with every stroke of Tristan’s hand against his cock and every messy kiss they shared. He moaned over and over again, getting louder too, not wanting to stop himself from experiencing this to the fullest after being denied it for so long.

Tristan was a mess a too, guided by instinct to rut and grind in search of the heights of pleasure. Tristan’s cock was pulsing and twitching under his fingers, leaking pre-cum that washed over Constantin’s skin. It was so erotic – the texture and the smell – that Constantin groaned into the kiss, one step closer to the edge.

“Constantin,” Tristan groaned breathlessly, biting into Constantin’s lower lip, rutting his hips up into Constantin’s grip without any sense of control left, pumping Constantin’s erection and loving the way the pre-cum dripped over his fingers. “I can’t— I’m gonna—”

Tristan reached his climax first. Constantin felt the spasm in his lover’s body, muscles clenching and then releasing tension, as Tristan sought his oblivion in the clash of their lips. The semen covered his fingers as he rode Tristan through his orgasm, bringing him safely to the other side of bliss.

Constantin was getting there too, only needing a little push. The mingled breaths, the intimate touch, the pace that picked up, the order falling from Tristan’s kiss-swollen lips…

“Come for me, Constantin,” Tristan whispered hotly, nipping gently at Constantin’s kiss-bruised lip.

“My love, my life, I’ll… Ah!” With a choked moan and a shudder, he spilled his seed over Tristan’s fingers, some droplets coating his stomach as well. The sensation was so strong that it shook him to his very core and took his breath away. He needed a few seconds to recover, breathing hard against Tristan’s skin.

God… It felt so intense. Not like any orgasm he had in his life. There was no comparison. That was the true power of being with someone you loved, someone you treasured above anything else in the world.

When his breathing evened out, he looked deeply into Tristan’s eyes. His lover’s face was red, sweaty, but content. As was his. Smiling, he brought their forehead together, as they lay completely boneless in their own filth. Constantin didn’t care at all. He didn’t want move, enjoying instead this sweet inertia.

As much as Constantin enjoyed sex and the earth-shattering rush of adrenaline it brought, the quiet moments after when he could just… _be_ with his lover were precious as well. The afterglow brought with itself softness and affection. The passion had burnt out, leaving behind the feeling of unparalleled intimacy. Especially, as he was happy to find out, if you shared that special moment with the person you loved most.

“I love you.” Seemed appropriate as a conclusion, coupled with a tender, languid stroke of Tristan’s cheek. Tristan’s eyes fluttered shut as gently brushed his nose against Constantin’s. “How was your first time? Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” Tristan sighed, reaching over to place his hand on Constantin’s bare hip, his leg still draped over Tristan’s. He rubbed over the smooth skin beneath his palm, thumb caressing Constantin’s hipbone. “It was perfect. You were perfect, Constantin, I… I love you more than words can express.”

Constantin smiled, hearing Tristan’s words. It meant the world to him to know that his lover’s experience was as good as his own. That was their special moment, one of many more in the future, naturally, but the first time was always the most important one. And who would mind being called perfect and reassured that they were loved?

Tristian decided not to express the sentiment with his words at all, tilting his head to kiss Constantin instead, first tender on his lips, then trailing down to his jawline, feather-light and affectionate before his mouth latched onto Constantin’s neck. A repayment for how he had marked Tristan earlier as he lovingly sucked a bruise into the skin before parting from him again.

“Now you’re mine,” he said, a touch of playfulness through his affection as his hand on Constantin’s hip squeezed lightly, perhaps a little bit possessive. “Just as I’m yours.”

He hummed with approval at all the languid kisses, even tilting his head to give Tristan’s lips more access to his neck. He sucked in a deep breath when Tristan’s mouth lavished his skin with attention. If he hadn’t been so spent now, his cock would have surely hardened from that alone. No doubt that the kiss would leave a mark. They both had matching love bites now, pouring oil into the flames of gossips. But how could he really care about that when Tristan was saying that they belonged to one another?

“Yes. I am yours and you are mine. Forever,” he said, believing in that with his whole being. He kissed Tristan’s lips and then was content to just look at him and rest, their bodies entangled into one another. He’d love to stay like this till the end of the day, just lounging about with his beautiful lover and relaxing, but the reality came a-knocking soon. Without the fires of passion between them, the temperature dropped and Constantin’s skin erupted into goosebumps.

“Should we clean this mess off?” Tristan suggested with a grin. “We still have a bath waiting for us.”

Constantin shuddered, fully endorsing Tristan’s suggestion.

“Probably better not to go to class covered in cum, no.” Laughing – quite delighted at how silly that would have been – Constantin kissed Tristan’s cheek right in the middle of his birthmark and heaved himself up. Walking naked and barefoot to the tub, acutely aware of Tristan’s eyes on him, he leaned and put his hand in the water. “Oh, thank god! It’s still warm!” Without delay, he entered, gladly submerging himself to escape the cold. “Come, Tristan. Still plenty of space to share! It’s nice, I swear.” The tub would provide a snug fit for two people, so his information perhaps wasn’t entirely accurate, but he doubted that his lover would mind.

Tristian sat up as Constantin climbed into the bath, sliding off the edge of the bed and rising up to his feet, clearly lured by the promise of heat and Constantin’s embrace—as well as washing the cum off his hand and abdomen, to be fair.

“Hmm… alright.” He approached the edge, grabbing one of the scented lavender soaps on his way there, then slowly stepped in while being careful to avoid accidentally trampling Constantin’s legs. He lowered himself onto Constantin’s lap while facing him. That was hardly a cause for complaining, though. Constantin doubted he’d ever get tired of feeling Tristan’s body against his own. Tristan’s arms casually draped around Constantin’s shoulders as he smiled playfully at his lover. “Hello there.”

“Hello,” Constantin replied with a chuckle. His arms rested loosely around Tristan’s waist, absent-mindedly running up and down his spine. Had they not both been sated only moments ago, a position like this surely would’ve flared up their appetites. “Long time no see. I missed you... But absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it?” With a dramatic sigh, he kissed the tip of Tristan’s nose, playful and content. He still could hardly believe that he held such treasure in his arms, that Tristan was truly his. With him at his side, Constantin felt as if he could conquer the world. Nothing would stand between them, nothing.

Tristan took the soap and the washcloth, and he certainly had to have used some sorcery because it was impossible for a simple bath to feel that good. Tristan ran the washcloth over Constantin’s skin while leaning in and pressing gentle kisses to cheeks and his lips. The cloth slid along Constantin’s neck down to his shoulders and arms, over Constantin’s chest and then lower still while Tristan kept kissing him, dipping his hand underwater. Constantin melted completely, pliant and relaxed, enjoying the gentle scrubbing and the lavender-scented kisses. He’d forever associate that smell with precisely that moment where everything was as perfect as it could only be.

Soon, far too soon, Tristan was done.

“Think you’re clean enough?” Tristan teased with a last kiss to the corner of Constantin’s mouth.

“My body might be clean, but my thoughts are anything but.” Constantin laughed and winked at him. If they had more time perhaps they could have done something more. Constantin was full of ideas. There were dozens of things he’d like to try on his cousin to make him feel good. They had to wait for later, though.

Constantin took the soap and washcloth from Tristan’s hand and repaid him in kind, cleaning his body with affection. Time wasn’t on their side, but still he did what he could to make Tristan feel worshipped. Every touch, caress or kiss spoke nothing but love. It was what he deserved, after all.

Soon enough, every inch of Tristan’s body had been adoringly cleaned. As much as it pained Constantin, they couldn’t linger, even if he would’ve loved to do exactly that. Mr. de Courcillon would be waiting for them, and beyond that, they had also planned an evening out into the city.

“Time to get back to reality.” With a sigh, Constantin stood up and stepped out from the bath onto the carpet. The fireplace did all it could to warm up the room, but the air still felt cold on Constantin’s naked skin. Quickly, he reached for the table and picked the towel that the servants had left, rinsing himself. Then, he paced back to the tub and handed it to Tristan. Unfortunately, the servants had left only one towel, so they had to do with what they had now. Constantin found his clothes discarded on the floor and put on his underwear and trousers. But the shirt… it was crumpled and soaked with sweat. He couldn’t wear it now, not after such a lovely bath, could he? An impish smile appeared on his lips. He had an idea.

“Tristan, darling…” he said to his lover, as Tristan dried himself off and stepped out of the tub as well. “I will borrow one of your shirts. I don’t want to wear my old ghastly one and I don’t feel like walking half naked through the castle to my room to pick something else. No one will notice if I steal something of yours, I’m sure!” Humming, in an excellent mood, he walked to the closet and opened it, peering inside. “Oh! I like that one!” Without dawdling, he quickly put on a casual, blue shirt. The sleeves were a tad too short and the fabric hang too loosely around his slim waist, but otherwise it fit well. There was something sublimely intimate about wearing each other’s clothes. He caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled. “How do I look, Tristan?” He twirled around, fully aware of how attractive he was. But it was still nice to hear it from your lover from time to time. As was seeing the purplish mark on his neck. He wanted both of them to display them proudly. If someone got scandalized by it, all the better. The excuse of a training-related injury was readily available.

When Constantin asked about his appearance and spun around flirtatiously, he counted on a reaction. Call it vanity or confidence, but he was aware of his looks and the effect they had on people. Was it wrong that he wanted his cousin to adore him? What he got was even better than he expected. Tristan crossed the room swiftly, as if unable to hold back, and pulled him into a rough kiss, a kiss that shouted ‘mine!’. Constantin’s knees went weak. If they had more time, he’d love Tristan to just take him like that on the table, roughly, boldly and unapologetically.

“Good enough to eat,” Tristan replied, gaze lingering on the mark on Constantin’s throat. Constantin couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“If that’s an offer, I’d love you to follow through with it…” Well, they already had plans for the evening, perhaps it could end on a naughty note then. Constantin didn’t want to sleep alone ever again. There was nothing better than to fall asleep in your lover’s arms, tired from bringing each other pleasure.

Tristan smiled a little, not adverse to the idea, and turned his attention on getting himself a new shirt. Constantin thought it to be regrettable that Tristan couldn’t borrow one of his in turn now, but there’d be plenty of time for that later.

Without preamble, Tristan quickly slipped his shirt on, and when he was finally done dressing, he reached over and grabbed Constantin’s hand, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. Constantin’s heart melted at the sweet kiss on his hand, as if he was a lady to be wooed. He had to admit that so far Tristan’s wooing techniques had been spot on.

“Let’s go, before Sir de Courcillon start’s thinking we ditched his class,” Tristan said, reluctant.

“Yes. Better not add ‘being late’ to the list of things I need to apologize for,” he concluded with a sigh. It went well with Kurt, perhaps this time would be similar?

Needing a bit of reassurance, he threw his arms around Tristan’s neck and hugged him briefly. Now they were ready to go. It was hard to leave the safe confines of Tristan’s room, the place where they could truly be themselves, and venture out there into that cold world of pretense, but they had little choice. The matching marks on their necks left little to the imagination, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Shoulder to shoulder, they left the room. Constantin risked a glance at his lover and for a second he could see sadness there before Tristian trained his face into a neutral expression again. Something was on his mind, some burden he carried and didn’t want to share. All Constantin could do was to send him a reassuring smile. For now, that seemed to be enough.


End file.
